Podcasts about Andrew Keen

“Anthropic will be a $3 trillion company, SpaceX $2 trillion, and OpenAI $1 to $1.5 trillion by Q2 of next year.” — Dave McClure Yesterday, Keith Teare and I debated the circularity of the AI economy. Today, two of Silicon Valley's most experienced investors, Dave McClure and Aman Verjee, not only straighten out this supposed “circularity” but also burst the pessimism bubble that envelops so many conversations about AI. Verjee is not only McClure's partner at Practical Venture Capital, but also the author of the newly published A Brief History of Financial Bubbles. According to him, today's AI-stoked economy is not an unusually large bubble. It may not even be a bubble, given that AI revenue — from Anthropic's $70 billion to OpenAI's $50 billion — is real. The irrational exuberance lives elsewhere — in companies “draping themselves in AI magic sauce” and in the “SaaSpocalypse” that is decimating software-as-a-service companies. They are both bullish about our AI future. McClure predicts that by the first half of next year, Anthropic and OpenAI will have joined SpaceX as public companies. Together, these three AI darlings will be worth $7 trillion. That's seven thousand billion reasons to be optimistic about 2027. Five Takeaways •       Not a Bubble — a Repricing. Both partners reject the bubble call, on the numbers: Anthropic at roughly $70 billion in revenue on under two gigawatts of compute, OpenAI at $40–50 billion, SpaceX guiding to $100 billion with more than half from AI — real revenue, increasingly real profits. The froth is specific: companies “draping themselves in AI magic sauce” without the substance, and the SaaSpocalypse — cloud-software companies whose cash flows are suddenly perceived as far less durable as AI encroaches on design, legal, and medical verticals. Michael Burry's warning gets Aman's definitive treatment (“he's called nine of the last two bubbles”), and the Aschenbrenner blowup was leverage — running four-x in volatile chip stocks — not AI: he kept his Anthropic position, is married to Dario's chief of staff, and “will be just fine.”•       The $2 Trillion Filing. The week's news, baked into the episode: Anthropic has filed to go public, with a very intentionally leaked $2 trillion valuation hinging on a $190–200 billion 2028 revenue forecast — which Dave suspects is conservative. Eight months ago, when these two last visited, the show was about Elon and Sam and Dario was the bit player; then came the weeks when decades happen: Anthropic's bet on coding agents — reportedly inspired by watching Cursor — captured the revenue engine of the entire application layer. Aman's sequencing: SpaceX is absorbing $75–85 billion of IPO capital, Anthropic goes next, and if both trade well, 2026 breaks every record for money raised — leaving 2027 for OpenAI at a $100 billion revenue guide. Google, he reminds us, went fourth after Yahoo, Lycos, and Excite: better to do it right than to do it first.•       The Fastest Pivot in Corporate History. Dave's account of SpaceX's transformation: the $250 billion xAI merger (a largely private transaction Elon approved with himself), the acquisition of Cursor that closed Friday, Colossus data centers scaling from two gigawatts toward ten, and compute deals renting capacity to Anthropic and Google — former competitors — all executed in roughly six months. The S-1, with unprecedented forward projections of $300 billion in annual revenue, mentions artificial intelligence over 1,100 times (“I used AI to count it,” Aman admits). The result is an economy Andrew calls incestuous: SpaceX's valuation now rests on Anthropic's progress. On Elon himself, Dave separates the art from the artist — terrific products, dubious politics — and on OpenAI: more board changes than Spinal Tap had drummers, a team still storming and norming, but Sam is savvy and the IPO lands by Q2 next year at $1–1.5 trillion.•       Circularity as Asset Class. The New York Times sees a vulnerability in tech giants funding their own customers; Aman, a former CFO at eBay and Sonos, sees asset-backed finance. His analogy: buying a Corvette with GMAC financing isn't a conspiracy as long as the terms are commercially reasonable — and NVIDIA's $500 billion backstop, syndicated with Goldman Sachs, Apollo, Brookfield, and KKR, brings third-party money that validates the asset. GPUs, he argues, are cars rather than smartphones: financeable over eight to ten years, not obsolete in three. The red flags to watch are rebates and self-dealing on non-commercial terms; the current evidence looks more like aircraft leasing than Enron. Dave's deeper worry isn't the AI economy at all — it's the national deficit, whose interest payments are now the largest single line item in the federal budget.•       The Luddite Summer Meets the Long Boom. Aman's sharpest historical observation: this may be the first technological revolution whose leaders are the doomers — Sam prophesying idleness, Dario predicting half of entry-level white-collar jobs destroyed within five years (already wrong at eighteen months, with no 10–20 percent unemployment in sight). Against the WSJ's jobless-boom and nation-of-Luddites anxieties, the book offers the long view: of ten historical bubbles, the two positive ones — Britain's 1845 railway mania and America's 1997–2000 internet boom — overbuilt, crashed, and left the world a valuable technology. Buy every stock founded in the boom and hold, and you'd have owned NVIDIA, Amazon, Google, and PayPal. The 1970s wiped out four to six million secretarial jobs in a decade; women's participation rose from 52 to 77 percent. And on China, the free-trader's answer: partners in progress — there's more to gain than lose if we do this right. About the Guests Dave McClure and Aman Verjee are the co-founders and managing partners of Practical Venture Capital, a Silicon Valley firm specializing in venture secondaries. Dave founded 500 Startups, invested at Founders Fund, and ran marketing at PayPal; Aman was COO of 500 Startups, led strategy at PayPal and eBay, served as CFO of Sonos and of eBay's North American marketplace — and wrote the first draft of PayPal's S-1. Aman's new book, A Brief History of Financial Bubbles (out this week), is available at bigbubbletrouble.com. References: •       A Brief History of Financial Bubbles by Aman Verjee — ten manias from the tulips to the subprime crash, out this week at bigbubbletrouble.com.•       Reuters on Anthropic's IPO filing — the $2 trillion valuation and the $190–200 billion 2028 revenue forecast it hinges on.•       “The Summer That America Became a Nation of Luddites” and the “jobless boom” — the Wall Street Journal pieces threading this week's episodes.•       The New York Times on tech giants' circular AI economy — the piece that framed yesterday's TWTW debate and today's rebuttal.•       The SpaceX S-1 — forward projections of $300 billion in ann...

“I don't feel any shame at all recruiting an army of AI agents to help me accomplish my goals. But I think society is trying to make me feel shame.” — Keith Teare Welcome to the summer of America's luddite discontent. Not only are left and right calling for an AI ban, but tech loathing has even infiltrated Silicon Valley in the form of Anthropic's decision to watermark Claude's output. That, at least, is the view of That Was The Week publisher Keith Teare, who believes that watermarking is “nuts.” In our luddite zeitgeist, Keith believes that a watermark is a scarlet stamp of implied guilt. By marking its own product, Anthropic is not only furnishing the luddite mob with a convenient surveillance tool, but also acknowledging a tacit guilt about using Claude. “You should never adjust to the market,” the Silicon Valley serial entrepreneur explains. “The market's wrong nine times out of ten.” As for Dario Amodei, Claude's dad (so to speak), Keith is even more accusatory. The Anthropic CEO is kissing ass “like a politician, not the leader of a company,” Keith hisses, repeating this week's whispers that Anthropic is becoming an “ideologically motivated cult.” If Dario were female, Keith would probably make him a witch. Or, at least, a hussy — the hysterical implication, if not the word, of the Journal's profile of Cami Clark, Dario's wife. I took Anthropic's side — somebody had to. I see watermarking as just another AI tool. It's an honest human fingerprint in an age of fakery. Live by the algorithm, die by it too. Anyway, a watermark has its uses. Rather than moral opprobrium, it feeds our curiosity about who is and isn't using AI. So, for example, I ran Keith's editorial through another AI detector and it indicated 86 percent AI-generated while mine came back as 100 percent human. And if I can elude the scarlet stamp, then even I might have to join the luddite mob. Five Takeaways •       “Watermarking Is Nuts.” Keith's editorial takes aim at Anthropic's decision to watermark Claude's output — invisible text signals identifying the machine's hand, cousin to what Google has long done with audio. His objection isn't the mark itself (“I don't care that it's watermarked. I care that Anthropic thinks it should be watermarked”): a watermark starts from suspicion, implies a problem where none exists, and tells Anthropic's own customers their use of the product needs flagging. Restream doesn't watermark this show; Adobe doesn't watermark its exports. To Keith it's pure zeitgeist capitulation — and while one Claude Max subscriber in the newsletter canceled in protest, Keith hasn't. Andrew's rebuttal: watermarking serves curiosity, and in an age of fakery an honest fingerprint is a very human addition.•       The Scarlet Watermark: On AI Shame. The deeper argument was theological. Keith — an atheist who concedes atheism is also a faith, and who believes in good and bad but not sin — feels no shame “recruiting an army of AI agents” so long as he can stand by the output; shame belongs to spam factories and fakers who publish unread. But society, he says, is trying to make him feel it: the canceled author who lost his agent last week proves there's an issue. Andrew, playing therapist, diagnosed a flicker of guilt anyway — and argued shame is precisely the point: one of the last all-too-human spaces, worth preserving in an age of machines. Both then confessed their methods on air: Pangram scored Keith's editorial 86 percent AI and Andrew's 100 percent human. “I'm a clever cheater. You're a less clever cheater.” Keith: “There's no shame in that.”•       Keith vs Dario. Keith's indictment of Anthropic's CEO was the week's harshest: Dario Amodei “kisses ass… like a politician, not the leader of a company,” keeps taking the media's bait, and is “damaging his chances over and over again” in a $2 trillion IPO year — cult whispers included. The right posture, per Keith: never adjust to the market (“wrong nine times out of ten”); do what Elon would do and call bullshit. Andrew's defense: he's a fan of Dario, certainly next to Elon and Slippery Sam — and if America really is a nation of Luddites, adjusting is what reality requires. His actual grievance is more prosaic: $100 a month and he's out of credits, as both Anthropic and OpenAI squeeze revenue for the IPO race. Keith, meanwhile, spent the week testing Grok Bot — a “far better” OpenClaw replacement at $200 a month — and declared himself, this week at least, a Grok Bot guy: “I'm for sale, actually.”•       The Luddite Summer Reading List. The Wall Street Journal declared this the summer America became a nation of Luddites — left and right, with a January 6 organizer now rallying conservatives against AI. Noah Smith diagnosed the poverty of anti-tech thought: tech's power is persuasion, not coercion, and the iPhone won its argument on day one (Andrew dissents — society never got to discuss the iPhone's impact). Martin Wolf, reviewing Daron Acemoglu's new defense of liberal democracy, concluded the ship has sailed: liberal democracy was unthinkable without industrial capitalism, and that age is vanishing. Keith's gloss is optimistic — the eroding factory life frees individuals for self-realization. Andrew's snapshot from deindustrialized Indianapolis, and Britain's twenty percent on disability, says otherwise. Keith's concession, extracted twice for the record: “You're right.”•       Unicorns, Circles — and Two IPOs. Keith listened to Andrew's Renée Jones interview and rated it good — but says she misses the why: overnight global distribution to five billion phones, freemium economics, and rational revenue multiples made unicorns inevitable; to stop them “she'd have to deglobalize the world.” (Andrew's verdict: “a nicer, smarter version of Lina Khan.” Keith's question for Democrats: where is your argument for embracing AI?) The New York Times' circularity warning — tech giants' profits propped by their own AI investments — got the Grok Bot treatment: hundreds of billions in external revenue make it a Channel Tunnel, not a closed loop, though Andrew noted Keith told the bot the answer first. Illiquid shares carry provisional, not realized, value. And the ending both agreed on: the OpenAI and Anthropic IPOs are this narrative's climax. Keith will personally buy both. About the Co-Host Keith Teare is the publisher of That Was The Week, the essential weekly tech newsletter, and founder and CEO of SignalRank Corporation. A serial entrepreneur — co-founder of, among others, EasyNet and RealNames — he was present at the creation of the UK internet and has spent four decades at the intersection of technology, capital, and ideas. He joins Keen On America every Sunday to make sense of the week in tech. References: •       That Was The Week — Keith's newsletter, including this week's editorial, “Why Watermark?”•  ...

“The machines today are like toddlers learning how to walk. They stumble. They're not very good. They make mistakes.” — Anmol Madan One in three American adults are already using AI for health information — with or without their doctors' permission. The machines, in other words, are already seeing us. This will chill some Americans in our summer of luddite discontent. For others, however, like the San Francisco-based medical tech entrepreneur Anmol Madan, the appearance of doctor AI in our lives is mostly good news. In his new book, The Machines Will See You Now, Madan lays out what he calls a “human roadmap” to “autonomous health care.” I'm not entirely sure what he means by “human” in a Blade Runner-style world where machine and man are quickly merging. But by “autonomous,” which I suspect is a euphemism, Madan means artificial intelligence. What worries Madan about our current moment is the broken dialogue over AI. On the one hand, we have tech utopians promising a totally automated healthcare industry. Then we have an anxious establishment struggling to change America's archaic and often dysfunctional medical system. And, of course, American consumers (if that's the right word) who are already using ChatGPT or, more troublingly, TikTok, as their doctor. America spends $4.7 trillion on a healthcare industry which compares poorly with the medical systems of other wealthy countries. Madan's “parallel universe,” he promises, would cost half as much and double access. The machines will see you now. Like it or not, Dr AI is our all-too-human future. Five Takeaways •       One in Three Already Ask the Machines. The KFF poll behind the episode: a third of American adults already use AI for health information, with or without their doctors' blessing — and if they're not asking ChatGPT, they're asking TikTok. Madan's frustration is the broken dialogue between AI exuberance (“we're going to automate healthcare”) and medical anxiety, when the right answer is in between: new technology is no excuse for throwing out the guardrails of medical devices and clinical safety. The stakes are the brutal arithmetic of American medicine — $4.7 trillion spent for the worst outcomes among peer nations — and his “parallel universe”: half the cost, twice the access, delivered by AI systems that are tested, safe, and rigorous. Consumer appetite is already there; the safeguards are not.•       The Waymo Scale for Medicine. The book's organizing framework applies the self-driving industry's levels of autonomy to healthcare. Level zero is today: 99 percent of decisions — diagnosis, treatment, prescription — made by humans. Level one is doctor assistance, already deployed: radiologists who once hauled backpacks of reports now guided by machines to where to focus. Levels two and three ease machines into the lowest-stakes treatment and diagnostic decisions with human review — and the fully autonomous end state, Madan concedes, may never arrive. To Andrew's objection that Waymo's scale ended with the drivers removed, Madan offers the transatlantic pilot: autopilot flies ninety percent of the route, and nobody thinks the pilot doesn't matter. The structure, he argues, is what lets regulators, doctors, and builders finally talk about the same thing.•       Toddlers Learning to Walk. Madan's metaphor for today's medical AI: toddlers — stumbling, error-prone, needing layers of protection, and badly underestimated at their peril and ours. The mistake, he argues, is concluding that because the systems aren't perfect we shouldn't try them at all, when a constrained system is starving for capacity. Pressed by Andrew on what the machines will never do (“toddlers grow up”), his list is candid: human perception — reading body language, assessing the person who walks into the clinic — improves far more slowly than diagnostic reasoning and may never reach human capacity; and the relationships people form with chatbots, loneliness epidemic notwithstanding, have no literature yet showing they produce clinical outcomes like a human therapist's thirty minutes. Plus one asterisk on the machines' famous exam results: we grade them on human benchmarks, and machines fail differently than humans do.•       The Behavior-Change Trillion. Of America's $4.7 trillion, a full trillion is the behavior-change problem — the eating, drinking, smoking, and sitting that no pamphlet has ever fixed. Andrew's objection: nobody needs an MIT degree to know they should exercise, so why would a machine's nagging beat a doctor's? Madan's answer is the space between visits: patients leave the office motivated and fall off within days, and personalized systems — like those he built for tens of millions at his previous companies — learn what actually moves each individual: this one walks more but won't change diet, that one needs the stress addressed first, another needs the language and cultural register matched. Not one-size-fits-all “eat healthy,” but friction removed person by person, programmatically, at a scale no human workforce could staff. Andrew's rejoinder: in an age of ubiquitous AI slop, the exercise reminder may be deleted as exactly that.•       Priceless. On trust, Andrew invoked the neighbors: Slippery Sam Altman, the mistrusted AI giants, and entrepreneurs — RadiantGraph included — getting rich while asking for our bloodwork. Madan's counsel is unexpected caution: in the AI era all data matters, healthcare data most of all, and it belongs on healthcare-specific, HIPAA-bound platforms — not pasted into general chatbots. He concedes San Francisco's mansions-and-homelessness inequity (he advises New York City's Department of Public Health and wants to help at home), but defends the Bay Area as the place where the PC, the iPhone, the web, and now AI actually happened — Jeff Dean announced his next act the morning they recorded. And the bot test: how would he prove he's human? “I'm quite flawed, and I'm often wrong. An AI avatar of Anmol probably wouldn't be as wrong as I sometimes am.” Fittingly priceless — which is what Anmol means in Sanskrit. About the Guest Anmol Madan is a healthcare entrepreneur and computer scientist, and the founder and CEO of RadiantGraph, an AI platform helping health plans and healthcare organizations deliver proactive care. An MIT Media Lab PhD who worked on the first generation of wearables, he founded Ginger, the pioneering AI tele-psychiatry company later acquired by Headspace, and served as Chief Data Scientist at Livongo and as a data and AI executive at Teladoc Health. He advises the New York City Department of Public Health and lives in San Francisco. The Machines Will See You Now: A Human Roadmap to Autonomous Health Care (Johns Hopkins University Press, September 1, 2026) is his first book. References: •       The Machines Will See You Now: A Human Roadmap to Autonomous Health Care by Anmol Madan (Johns Hopkins University Press, September 1, 2026). Alex Pentland, MIT: “A critical read about AI in he...

“The Romans did that many, many times — until normal had changed so radically that there was nothing left of the republic to protect.” — Michelle Berenfeld on getting “back to normal” Are we Rome (yet)? Michelle Berenfeld fears we are. Back in April of last year, the professor of classics at Pitzer College published “The Roman Way to Trash a Republic” in the Atlantic. And now Berenfeld has expanded her argument into Lessons from a Lost Republic, a new book about what Ancient Rome can teach us about our current American moment. There are two Romes, Berenfeld reminds us: the Roman Republic and Imperial Rome. Nostalgic tech guys like Mark Zuckerberg are obsessed with the imperial world of emperors, legions, and world domination, while the more forward-thinking founders of the American republic used imperial figures like Caesar and Augustus as negative lessons from antiquity. Asking whether Trump is Roman is like asking whether the Pope is Catholic. Certainly he's a wannabe Caesar with his fleshy face on our currency, his imperial DC arch, his daily wars, and all those fake blood sports on the White House lawn. But the daily comedy show misses the longer-term political tragedy. Berenfeld fears the shift in power from Congress toward an imperial presidency, a trend she says predates Trump and will outlast him. The gravest Roman conceit was believing, after each crisis, that things could get “back to normal” — a mantra Roman citizens repeated endlessly until there was nothing left of the old republic to protect. Then there's Zuckerberg, who even named his daughters August and Aurelia. For Zuck, Augustus should be praised for doing “tough things” to usher in two centuries of peace and prosperity. But Berenfeld reminds us those tough things included drawing up enemies lists and killing everyone who crossed him. Meanwhile, this supposed peace and prosperity (de)generated the rule of Caligula and Nero. Augustus, Berenfeld argues, was one of history's great spin doctors, claiming to be restoring a corrupted republic while simultaneously dismantling it. No wonder, perhaps, Zuckerberg admires him so much. Berenfeld says that the Roman spectacle of “bread and circuses” should be a warning. Juvenal's complaint was that Romans traded their liberties for gladiatorial games and free grain. We're making the same trade in contemporary America, Berenfeld observes, and getting neither. Most Americans, she concludes sadly, can't even afford a World Cup ticket. Berenfeld's deepest lesson is about power and political agency. Political powers given up are not easily gotten back, she warns. Republics are not saved by Hollywood-style saviors, and there is no golden age to restore. That said, the Los Angeles-based classicist hasn't completely given up hope. Nothing about Rome's trajectory was inevitable, she reminds us. Remixing Benjamin Franklin, the American Republic is ours to keep, if we use our agency as citizens. Just don't tempt fate by naming your daughters August and Aurelia. Five Takeaways •       The Founders' Rome vs the Bros' Rome. Americans are obsessed with the wrong Rome. The TikTok meme, the billionaires, and the manosphere celebrate the empire — emperors, legions, gladiators, world domination — while the founders admired the republic: 500 years of government founded on the rejection of a king, with rule of law, guaranteed rights, and peaceful transitions of power, all rare in antiquity. They designed the American constitution in explicit dialogue with Rome's collapse, asking “what if someone like Sulla or Caesar got this position?” — and regarded the men the bros now worship as usurpers and dictators. Polybius' mixed constitution — part monarchy (consuls), part aristocracy (Senate), part democracy (assemblies) — became their template of checks and balances. A republic, as Franklin warned, if you can keep it.•       On the Nose — and Beside the Point. Trump's Romanism is almost comical: his face on coins, a triumphal arch, blood sport performed on the White House lawn. But Berenfeld's book — which she didn't want to be about Trump at all — argues the real Roman echo is structural: a Senate voluntarily handing its powers to one man, a trend that predates Trump and will outlast him. The gravest error is the “back to normal” fallacy: after each crisis, the Romans told themselves the republic had survived and things could return to normal — many, many times, until normal had shifted so radically that there was nothing left to protect. America's dichotomy of denial and despair repeats it: blaming everything on one president gives cover to everyone else who is ceding, normalizing, and waiting for the storm to pass.•       Bread, Circuses — and Neither. Juvenal's famous sneer, decoded: the circuses were amphitheater games staged sometimes every other day; the bread was a grain allotment for every Roman citizen — in effect, Berenfeld notes, a minimum basic income, something our politics would call socialism. The Roman people traded their liberties and their republic for that package. Americans, she argues, are making the same trade and receiving neither the bread nor the circuses — no basic income, and most people can't afford a World Cup ticket. The party structure rhymes too: the populares and the optimates were both parties of very rich men competing for a few powerful positions, and eventually they looked alike to ordinary Romans — much as America's two parties have begun to look alike to ordinary Americans.•       Marcus Aurelius Was Writing His Memoirs. Every American man Berenfeld meets brings up Marcus Aurelius. The Meditations contain genuine wisdom — thoughtful action, the equal shortness of all lives — but context deflates the cult: it was the private journal of an elderly emperor, written in Greek (the language of philosophy, not of his soldiers), barely read in antiquity and rediscovered much later. “It's a little bit like when George Bush started making paintings.” Andrew's Arendtian reading — stoicism as the inward turn of men whose empire had abolished politics — hangs over the manosphere's version. And the one way she wishes Trump were more Roman: the engineering. Roman concrete got stronger underwater; on the reflecting-pool problem in DC, “if I were an ancient Roman, I could tell him — I've got a guy.”•       Powers Given Up Are Not Easily Gotten Back. The book's core warning: when a legislature grants one man powers beyond his office — always in the name of crisis — those powers stick to the office long after the man is gone, and no savior restores them. Lincoln and FDR stretched their bounds and let go afterwards (or died, as Andrew noted; she conceded). Berenfeld refuses the fascism debate — Mussolini cast himself as a new Augustus, and 1930s historians bought the story — offering a sharper test instead: would you give these powers to a president whose politics you oppose? Nero's fiddle was posthumous PR; an emperor's reputation depends on his successor, which makes the augury of a President Vance worth watching. Nothing was inevitable — not Augustus, not Christianity, not the fall. Political agency is...

 “He's not a trustworthy witness to his own story. Everything is ten times bigger and better than it really was — except when he was accused of crimes, in which case he can't really remember anymore.” — Joby Warrick on Carlos the Jackal Yesterday, WOLA's Adam Isacson and John Walsh described how the US government has appropriated the term “narco-terrorism” to justify their Latin American killing spree. Today, we talk the real thing. Pulitzer Prize-winning Joby Warrick has a new book out about the rise and fall of Carlos the Jackal, who he calls the “original super-terrorist.” So who was Carlos the Jackal? Originally he was named by his Venezuelan Marxist father Ilich in homage to Lenin. Then he renamed himself Carlos, borrowing from a fake passport the French police happened to find in 1975. While The Jackal came from the London Guardian after reporters spotted Frederick Forsyth's best-seller on the bookshelf of his London safe house. Ilich (i.e. Carlos) loved it. Anything for attention. Especially from the capitalist media. His career, as a proxy Palestinian terrorist, was equally audacious. His solo debut, at 24, was the attempted London assassination of Marks & Spencer chairman Joseph Sieff. Two years later, Carlos waltzed into OPEC headquarters in Vienna and kidnapped most of the world's oil ministers, a terrorist heist that, Warrick reveals, was financed by Muammar Gaddafi. Then all of Carlos' yesterdays — and there are many, as Warrick discovers when he interviews him in his French jail. He spent twenty years on the run, mostly barely camouflaged in faded Eastern European hotels. The Mossad didn't even consider him worth assassinating. By the eighties he had become a gun for hire who'd stopped attacking Israelis. And at 75, in his convent-turned-prison outside Paris, the world's original super-terrorist cooks his own meals, repeats old leftist slogans, and misremembers everything except his innocence. In spite of his pathetic fate, Carlos matters because, as Warrick notes, the Jackal model is back in fashion. Russia and Iran now hire petty crooks on Telegram for a few hundred dollars to firebomb synagogues or assassinate dissidents. Gaza's tragic hopelessness echoes the post-1967 conditions that bred the first wave of Palestinian terror. Social media is now infested with wannabe violent influencers. The day of the Jackal, then, is not only our history but also our future. Five Takeaways •       Interview with the Jackal. Warrick negotiated for over a year — with Carlos, then with a French government determined he not be glorified, since his gravest crimes were against French citizens — for roughly ninety minutes in March 2025, no recorder, no camera, notebook only. The prison is a converted sixteenth-century convent outside Paris where the Nazis once tortured members of the Resistance; inside it, Carlos remains the big man on campus — guards call him Carlos, not Ilich, and he keeps a large cell, cooks his own meals, and browses the internet. At 75 he is natty, polyglot, charming — and stooped, forgetful, repeating himself into what Warrick calls a fog of old memories. As a witness he is worthless: everything ten times bigger and better than it was, except the crimes, which he suddenly cannot recall.•       Ilich, Carlos, Jackal: An Accidental Brand. His ardent-Marxist father named his three sons Vladimir, Ilich, and Lenin, after the founder of the Soviet Union. “Carlos” came from a fake passport — Carlos Martinez — that French police happened to seize in 1975; the pudgy dark-glasses photo the world memorized was a passport fake he remains embarrassed by. “The Jackal” was coined by the British tabloids after reporters prowling his London safe house spotted Forsyth's The Day of the Jackal on the bookshelf. He embraced all of it: a true believer whose slogans still pour out in prison, welded to a massive ego that always placed Carlos at the center of the revolution. Had Instagram existed, Warrick agrees, he'd have used it — the pre-digital influencer, with the world's press as his platform.•       From Five Bullets to Kidnapping OPEC. His 1970 baptism of fire in the Black September fighting hardened him past the point of return; his solo test, at 24, was the attempted assassination of Marks & Spencer chairman Joseph Sieff — an old gun, five bullets, a jam, and a bullet deflected by the victim's teeth (“good old Milk Marketing Board,” Sieff told the BBC from his hospital bed). The masterpiece came in December 1975: a 26-year-old walks into OPEC's Vienna headquarters mid-conference, takes the world's oil ministers hostage, extracts a plane and a ransom, and flies them to North Africa — the most audacious terrorist act Warrick can name. The book's scoop settles who sponsored it: not Saddam Hussein, as biographers and a 2010 docudrama claimed, but Muammar Gaddafi — the autocrat pioneering the criminal proxy with no return address.•       Twenty Years, No Capture — and a Mossad Pass. The world's most wanted man spent two decades in comfort: Budapest his favorite hideout (good meals, nice hotels — Carlos insisted on top-flight everything), the Hungarians, East Germans, and Romanians almost proud to host their superstar guest, Assad's Syria always available. The run ended only when the Bloc fell and the Arab states tired of him; the French and Americans finally tracked him to Khartoum in 1994. The great deflation is the Mossad: they never bothered with him. His mentor Wadi Haddad — the true operational genius — they hunted and killed; Carlos, by then a mercenary who'd stopped attacking Israelis, simply fell down the priority list. The world's most fearsome terrorist wasn't worth Israel's effort.•       The Return of Violent Chaos. Warrick's closing argument, and the reason this history is news: the Gaddafi model has been rediscovered. Russia and Iran now hire criminals — recruited on Telegram, paid a few hundred dollars in crypto — to throw grenades into synagogues, set fires, and assassinate dissidents: hundreds of incidents already, most under the radar, none traceable to Moscow or Tehran. The modern Carlos works for whoever pays; ideology has left the business entirely. Gaza's hopelessness, meanwhile, mirrors the post-1967 despair that launched the first international terror wave — and we are not prepared. As for America's own extrajudicial turn, from drone war to boat strikes: “There's no precedent... it is a grave change for us as Americans. Very troubling to me.” About the Guest Joby Warrick is a two-time Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist and veteran national security correspondent for The Washington Post. His books include The Triple Agent, Red Line, and Black Flags: The Rise of ISIS, winner of the 2016 Pulitzer Prize for General Nonfiction. The Jackal: The Rise and Fall of Carlos, the World's First Super-Terrorist (Scribner, August 18, 2026), built on newly declassified archives, secret police files, and a rare interview with Carlos himself, is out next week.

“Each one of these is individually a crime scene, and the United States is the responsible actor.” — John Walsh With America preoccupied (as always) with war in the Middle East, another kind of killing is taking place at its back door. Since early September of last year, the United States military has bombed 67 small boats in the Caribbean and Eastern Pacific and assassinated 221 supposed “narco-terrorists.” The first full account of this deadly war is the Washington Office on Latin America's (WOLA) Killing Spree: Extrajudicial Executions in the U.S. Boat Strike Campaign, a 27,000-word report by Adam Isacson, WOLA's director for defense oversight, and John Walsh, its director for drug policy. Under U.S. and international law, this is murder, Isacson and Walsh conclude about a policy they see as premeditated killing of civilians who pose no immediate threat to the United States. Its official name is Operation Southern Spear, designed as a war on terror by an inner circle of Stephen Miller, Pete Hegseth, and Marco Rubio. So the Donroe Doctrine is really a broader MAGA embrace of extra-judicial killings. Trump might be able to point to Latin America on a map, but this official US policy is about far more than geography. And it even fails as drug policy. The boat strikes target Andean cocaine while fentanyl (produced in Mexico from Chinese synthetics) drives the American epidemic. As Isacson puts it, bombing these boats is like murdering a street-corner dealer and declaring the entire drug problem solved. The WOLA report's darkest implication is domestic. The Justice Department memo underpinning the campaign amounts, Walsh argues, to an open license to kill. For an administration that talks obsessively about the enemy within, the boat strikes might be a dress rehearsal. Graham Greene's quiet Americans have metastasized into the deadly Americans. Only this time they're filming their own atrocities and boasting about them on social media. The assassination of that street-corner dealer in Peru might be a dress rehearsal for an anti-ICE activist in Minnesota. America's southern back porch threatens to become its northern front door. Five Takeaways •       63 Crime Scenes. The numbers, from WOLA's strike-by-strike tracker: 63 attacks on 67 boats since September 2, 2025; 221 people killed; three known survivors. The legal analysis is not complicated: Title 18, Section 1111 of the U.S. Code prohibits murder, applies on the high seas, and premeditated killing of civilians with no self-defense justification is precisely what it forbids — no due process, no evidence offered, and in many cases no idea who was aboard. Each announcement is a near-identical Southern Command tweet, which is exactly what makes the campaign insidious: with no news handle, coverage shrinks to 150 words in the AP, and a democracy grows numb to what Walsh insists on calling 63 individual crime scenes with the United States as the responsible actor.•       Narcoterrorism: Two Wars Welded Together. Operation Southern Spear fuses the post-9/11 war on terror with the sixty-year war on drugs: organized-crime groups redefined as the equivalent of al-Qaeda and ISIS, a secret list of two dozen designated organizations, and Stephen Miller declaring that only the military can fight drug trafficking. The policy's continuity is real — supply control has been an American staple since Reagan — but its rupture is stark: Marco Rubio's own justification admitted that decades of interdiction never worked, so the administration would skip the intermediary steps and simply kill. The December 2025 National Security Strategy makes Latin America a first-tier priority for the first time in decades — the Donroe Doctrine, which Andrew reads as a broader MAGA embrace of extra-judicial killings — with Venezuela as proof of concept and “joint operations” as the export: Mexico refused, Ecuador agreed, and newly elected far-right governments in Colombia and Peru may soon invite American special forces to kick in doors.•       The Wrong War on the Wrong Economy. Both authors concede the underlying problem is real: organized crime kills, displaces, extorts everyone from street peddlers to five-star restaurants, and buys governments wholesale. But the strikes fail on their own terms. They target Andean cocaine while fentanyl — compact, potent, made in Mexico from Chinese precursors — drives American overdose deaths. Drugs are one income stream among many: at $4,000-an-ounce gold, illegal mining that poisons the Amazon may pay better, alongside extortion, kidnapping, and migrant smuggling. And the military is the wrong tool: America's supermax already holds the drug lords, the Medellín and Cali cartels were obliterated decades ago, and there is more coca than ever — because organized crime, unlike an insurgency, doesn't want to fight the state. It wants to corrupt it. Killing suspects also destroys the evidence a real case would need — ludicrous, as Walsh puts it, as drug policy.•       Who Were the 221? Nobody knows how many were innocent — which is itself the scandal. From the few dozen cases WOLA could document, the dead include fishermen, migrants, human-trafficking victims, and kids paid a couple hundred dollars to run drugs or fuel one time — the lowest links in the chain, in coastal regions where boats are the only roads and the same vessel carries passengers one day and a small cargo the next. (Isacson has ridden boats exactly like the ones in the videos.) One victim was a genuinely dirty local drug boss; most were nothing of the kind. The reckoning has begun at the edges: two Trinidadian families are suing the United States in Boston federal court, a Colombian fisherman's family has gone to the Inter-American Commission on Human Rights, and an Ecuadorian prosecutor who investigated the strikes has been assassinated.•       Colombia or Chicago. The report's most chilling section reads the Justice Department's legal memo as an open license to kill: a secret list, membership decided by the president, no limiting factor — so that, as Walsh warns, “it doesn't matter if you're in Colombia or Chicago.” For an administration that speaks constantly of the enemy from within — and drummed the theme into the assembled brass at Quantico — the high seas look like a rehearsal space. Accountability remains possible: Tim Kaine is reading every after-action report, boat-flag states could take Trump officials to the International Criminal Court, and travel could get complicated for the inner circle. WOLA's fear isn't retribution but lawfare — never, as Isacson says, a reason to be silent. Graham Greene's quiet Americans have metastasized into the deadly Americans, filming their own atrocities and boasting on social media. The assassination of a street-corner dealer in Peru might be a dress rehearsal for an anti-ICE activist in Minnesota: America's southern back porch threatens to become its northern front door. The report is free online. Read it. About the Guests 

“Obituaries are about life, about the lives that people have lived. Death only figures in one sentence.” — Sam Roberts This is, remarkably, episode 3,000 of Keen On America — three thousand conversations since the show launched on TechCrunch in 2010. Fitting, then, that today's guest has written nearly 1,500 obituaries for the New York Times. Sam Roberts is a reporter on the Times' obituaries desk and has a new book about the art of the obit entitled Are They Dead Yet? We recorded this a week before airtime, so I began by asking who's going to die in the interim. He wasn't sure — but noted that the Times keeps 2,000 advance obituaries ready. There are, he added, never enough. Beware, though, the Rockefeller curse. Roberts wrote David Rockefeller's advance obituary, whereupon he learned that three other Times reporters had written Rockefeller advance obits — and all three were dead. (Rockefeller made it to 101.) Borrowing from Citizen Kane, Roberts hunts for the Rosebud moment, the epiphany that defines a life. He hunts for the soul of the subject, not the résumé. Hence his cheerful paradox that obituaries are about life, whereas death only figures in one sentence. As for famous last words, he's a skeptic — most were composed later by better writers. The real ones, he suspects, are “help,” or “get me a drink.” And the obituarist's own Rosebud moment? We have to go back to Brooklyn when he was a six-year-old boy. His father walked him to the corner to watch the Rosenberg funeral procession pass. “I want you to see history as it's happening,” he explained. Half a century later, Roberts got David Greenglass to admit he had lied about the testimony that sent his own sister, Ethel Rosenberg, to the electric chair. From the Times' Portraits of Grief after 9/11, Roberts learned the book's deepest lesson. There are no ordinary lives. Who would you miss more — your mayor or your mailman? Or maybe your obit writer (or even your podcaster)? Sam promised that if he died before airtime, he'd call. The phone hasn't rung. I'm still going too. On to episode 3,001. Five Takeaways •       2,000 Obits, Never Enough. The Times keeps some 2,000 advance obituaries on file, regularly updated — and people still surprise the desk (and presumably themselves) by dying unexpectedly. Print once had a deadline or two a day; now there's a deadline every minute. The occupational hazards are real: three Times reporters wrote advance obits of David Rockefeller and predeceased him — Roberts, the fourth, survived to see his run when Rockefeller died at 101. And the genre changes its readers: “no man who has seen his own obit is ever the same again.” Alfred Nobel, mistakenly obituarized as dynamite's merchant of death, endowed the Nobel Prizes in response — proof that a premature obituary can be the most consequential document a man ever reads.•       The Rosebud Method. Roberts' organizing device comes from Citizen Kane: the Rosebud moment, the epiphany — a teacher, a meeting, an accident — that changed the trajectory of a life and made it worth recording. The model, via The Economist's Ann Wroe, is the soul rather than the stenography: Wikipedia has the chronology; the obituary hunts the essence. Advance obits are never vetted by their subjects — facts checked, yes; the portrait, never — because an obituary is a news story, not a eulogy. And the form's great secret is optimism: obituaries are about life. Death gets one sentence. (Famous last words, meanwhile, are mostly posthumous fiction. The real ones: “help,” or “get me a drink.”)•       Giuliani, Trump, Epstein. The hardest working file on Roberts' desk: Rudy Giuliani — aggressive prosecutor, the mayor who proved New York governable, then a bitter Trump apologist indicted under the same statutes he once used on mobsters. How do you compress that into a lead paragraph? Andrew's suggestion — a narrative of somebody who had a soul and then sold it — requires Shakespeare; Roberts insists on newspaper objectivity, omitting nothing and editorializing never. The Trump obituary already exists (its subject, Roberts guesses, would sue). And context keeps moving after death: Bush the defeated loser became Bush the elder statesman; Epstein's reputation kept falling posthumously. Of the 150,000 people who die each day, three or four make the Times.•       The Rosenberg Rosebud. Roberts' own epiphany arrived at age six, on a Brooklyn street corner where his father took him to watch the Rosenberg funeral procession: “I want you to see history as it's happening.” His family otherwise met death with denial — six months after his father died, an aunt asked how Arthur was doing could only answer “so-so.” The Rosenberg thread ran through his whole career: decades later, for his book The Brother, David Greenglass admitted to Roberts that he had lied about the most incriminating testimony against his sister Ethel — evidence that, truthfully given, would likely have spared her the electric chair. When Roberts assigned graduate students to write his own advance obituary, none of them led with that. He would.•       No Ordinary Lives. From Portraits of Grief — the Times' profiles of virtually every victim of the World Trade Center attack — Roberts drew the book's central lesson: there are no ordinary lives. Who would you miss more, your mayor or your mailman? Carlyle asked whether history belongs to Hannibal or to the anonymous man who invented the spade. The desk has honored the principle in both directions: a front-page obituary for Hercule Poirot (the most famous Belgian, as Andrew noted), and a Jesus of Nazareth obituary written as the Times would have run it in AD 33 — ending, for lack of further confirmation, with the report that he was buried and his body disappeared. No beat generates more reader feedback. “As long as they're reading it, I'm happy.” About the Guest Sam Roberts is a fifty-year veteran of New York journalism, an obituaries reporter and former Urban Affairs correspondent at the New York Times, and the host of the Times' “Close Up,” which he inaugurated in 1992. His many books include The Brother, Grand Central, A History of New York in 101 Objects, and Only in New York. A history adviser to Federal Hall, he lives in New York with his wife and two sons. Are They Dead Yet? The Art of the Obit (Bloomsbury, August 11, 2026) draws on the nearly 1,500 obituaries he has written for the Times. References: •       Are They Dead Yet? The Art of the Obit by Sam Roberts (Bloomsbury, August 11, 2026). Carl Hiaasen: “Mordantly wonderful.” Roz Chast: “I almost died laughing.”•       The Brother by Sam Roberts — in which David Greenglass admitted lying about the testimony that sent his sister, Ethel Rosenberg, to the electric chair.•...

“By operating in secrecy, they're able to avoid or evade accountability — and, in many instances, engage in anticompetitive behavior or even fraud.” — Renée M. Jones on unicorns Twelve years ago there were 39 unicorns — private companies worth a billion dollars or more. Today there are over 1,400, collectively valued above $7 trillion, with the twin beasts of Anthropic and OpenAI at the front of the herd, driving the entire American economy. A good thing, surely? Not according to Renée M. Jones, the SEC's chief regulator of corporate finance from 2021 to 2023 and author of Untamed Unicorns: Why Startup Finance Is Broken and How to Fix It. The former SEC big game warden worries that this stampede of wild unicorns might be driving the entire American economy off a cliff. Her problem isn't that these private companies exist. It's that we know almost nothing about them. That's because of changes in the law since the Nineties that have lifted the hundred-investor cap on private funds, thereby enabling them to mushroom from under $1 trillion to $17 trillion. Add secondary markets where insiders quietly cash out, and the IPO becomes optional. And so we know almost nothing about companies like Anthropic and OpenAI with private valuations in the hundreds of billions of dollars. The result is what Jones calls the founder-friendly model of Facebook, Uber or Airbnb. With super-voting shares at ten votes apiece, founders effectively choose their own bosses, thereby stripping investors of the power to discipline anyone. Think Travis Kalanick and Mark Zuckerberg. Think Theranos, WeWork and FTX. Unicorns are named, of course, for their impossibility. Not so long ago, nobody could imagine a private company worth more than a billion dollars. However, with $7 trillion now on the table, Jones is concerned about the health of the American startup economy. On the brink of the OpenAI and Anthropic IPOs, I fear Renée Jones might be right about the dangers of a real crash triggered by the stampede of these mythical creatures. Jurassic Park is now playing in Silicon Valley. Pass the popcorn. Five Takeaways •       The $7 Trillion Secret. The unicorn was named for its rarity: 39 existed twelve years ago. Today there are more than 1,400, worth over $7 trillion — roughly 1,100 in America, nearly 300 in China — and the biggest of them shape the economy while disclosing essentially nothing. That is Jones' target: not the billion-dollar valuations but the secrecy. A billion-dollar private company faces neither the disclosure rules nor the governance requirements of a public company its size, which means accountability arrives only by accident — a scandal, a frustrated investor, a whistleblower calling a reporter. Everything else stays dark.•       How the IPO Died. Startups once went public within five to seven years, for two reasons: growth capital lived in public markets, and the 500-shareholder rule forced large private companies to register — it's reportedly why Google and Facebook held their IPOs at all. Both reasons were legislated away. NSMIA (1996) uncapped private funds, whose assets exploded from under $1 trillion to $17 trillion; the JOBS Act (2012) moved the trigger to 2,000 shareholders with employee shares exempt; and secondary markets — Forge Global, Nasdaq Private Market, EquityZen — let insiders cash out without a prospectus. The IPO became a liquidity event rather than a necessity. Only AI's bottomless capital hunger, Jones notes, is pushing OpenAI and Anthropic toward the public markets at all.•       Founders Choosing Their Bosses. The founder-friendly model gives startup founders super-voting shares — ten votes to one — letting them control the board that supposedly controls them. Venture capitalists lost their traditional power to discipline or dismiss a misbehaving founder: Uber's investors, lacking the votes to oust Travis Kalanick, had to stage a coup via press leak. And the VCs are conflicted anyway — exposing fraud destroys the exit they're invested in. Jones' answer to the Google-and-Facebook counterargument is historical: dual-class structures were invented at those companies precisely to coax their founders into IPOs, and they now arrive by the second or third funding round — so the governance rot starts earlier and, as Zuckerberg demonstrates, persists indefinitely after the public offering.•       The Fraud Files — and the Social Bill. FTX. Theranos, which hid parts of its lab from inspecting regulators. WeWork, whose IPO filing finally told the truth about the spending and self-dealing — whereupon the public refused to buy, the company limped through a SPAC into bankruptcy, and employees who had borrowed money to exercise options and pay taxes were left holding worthless paper. (The VC money lost, Jones notes, is substantially public pension money anyway.) Beyond the frauds lies the social bill of the below-cost blitzscale: taxi drivers destroyed and then prices raised; passengers assaulted under lax background checks; Airbnb's uncollected occupancy taxes, underinvested security, and name-based discrimination. A culture of outrunning the law, Jones argues, gets baked in — and firms powerful enough simply change the law, as Uber and Lyft did to driver-classification rules in California and Massachusetts.•       Not Teddy — Franklin. Asked whether the coming reckoning demands a new Teddy Roosevelt — Casey Michel's prescription on this show days earlier — Jones reaches a generation later: Franklin's New Deal securities acts of 1933 and 1934, which made disclosure the price of other people's money and worked for ninety years. Since the 1980s the architecture has been chipped into optionality, and the SEC is now dismantling Sarbanes-Oxley and Dodd-Frank protections while deregulating public markets too. Her remedies: disclosure to employees paid in options they cannot value, and disclosure in the largest private offerings — because investors of any sophistication cannot make responsible decisions while investing blind. Andrew's closing verdict: I hope she's wrong. I suspect she's right. About the Guest Renée M. Jones is Professor of Law and Dr. Thomas F. Carney Distinguished Scholar at Boston College Law School, where she has taught corporate and securities law for nearly a quarter century. From 2021 to 2023 she served as Director of the Division of Corporation Finance at the U.S. Securities and Exchange Commission — the nation's chief regulator of capital formation. A graduate of Princeton University and Harvard Law School, she is the author of Untamed Unicorns: Why Startup Finance Is Broken and How to Fix It (Harvard University Press, August 4, 2026). References: •       Untamed Unicorns: Why Startup Finance Is Broken and How to Fix It by Renée M. Jones (Harvard University Press, August 4, 2026). Jennifer Taub: “This essential book, replete with details and drama.”•       The National Securities Markets Improvement Act (1996) and the JOBS A...

“There is a big chasm between defeat and surrender. Surrender is inherently a political decision.” — James M. Scott Exactly eighty-one years ago, on August 9, 1945, the United States dropped its second nuclear device on Nagasaki. Three days earlier, on August 6, the Enola Gay dropped the first bomb on Hiroshima. Little Boy and Fat Man. Our nuclear Rubicon had been crossed. Three days in August that changed the world. These historic 72 hours are the subject of Empire of Ashes: Truman, Hirohito, and the Descent into Total War, by James M. Scott, America's foremost chronicler of the Pacific War. This new book, Scott reveals, grew out of Black Snow, his history of the firebombing of Tokyo. But whereas Black Snow was a military study, he explains, Empire of Ashes focuses on Truman, Hirohito and the politics of nuclear warfare. By August 1945, Scott argues, Japan was already defeated. So surrender was a political decision — one that required a weak, figurehead emperor to summon the power to save his country from an even darker apocalypse. Should America regret these August days? Harry Truman certainly didn't, Scott notes. In fact, in 1958 Truman even held a press conference in Independence, Missouri, to fire back at Hiroshima's city council when it suggested that he should. Nor does Scott render much of a moral verdict of his own. “Nobody needs to hear James Scott in Charleston, South Carolina tell you what it is you should think,” he explains, suggesting that we can all make up our minds by reading Empire of Ashes. So two bombs, somewhere between 150,000 and 246,000 civilian deaths, and no crime? That, oddly enough, might be the biggest tragedy of those three days in August 1945 that changed the world forever. Five Takeaways •       Defeat Is Not Surrender. Scott's organizing insight: as destructive as it was, the atomic bomb was inherently a political weapon, aimed at the chasm between a nation defeated and a nation willing to say so. Surrender is a political act — and Japan's politics ran through Hirohito, ostensibly the center of political, cultural, and spiritual life, in practice a figurehead bypassed by militarists who had consolidated power through the 1920s and '30s under the standing threat of assassination. His first peace soundings had to be conducted incognito, for fear of his own army; not until June 1945 does he rise to the occasion. Truman, by contrast, emerges as strong and morally serious — a First World War artillery officer who inherited the Okinawa bloodbath, approved the invasion of Japan, chose what he saw as the lesser evil, and then stopped all further atomic use the moment surrender came.•       The Firebombing Precedent. Would FDR have made the same call? “Absolutely. No doubt about it.” The moral threshold had already been crossed on March 9, 1945, when Curtis LeMay abandoned precision bombing and burned Tokyo — 105,000 men, women, and children in a single night, the most destructive conventional raid in history. The Pentagon braced for public outrage, monitoring editorials, radio, and the floors of Congress. None came; Time wrote that “properly kindled, Japanese cities will burn like autumn leaves.” LeMay took the green light and burned 64 cities — 170 square miles — before the first atomic bomb ever fell. War Secretary Henry Stimson confessed his amazement to his diary; FDR, with every opportunity to rein it in, said nothing. When Elliott Roosevelt later claimed his father would never have dropped the bomb, Stimson publicly corrected him.•       The Second Bomb Mattered More. Scott's most counterintuitive argument: Nagasaki, not Hiroshima, ended the war. Atomic energy was the AI of its day — over a hundred academic papers in 1939 alone, new physics programs at Berkeley and Chicago, dreams of atom-powered ships — and Japan, which had its own failed program, knew exactly how ruinously expensive a bomb was to build. So after Hiroshima, the militarists reasoned the Americans could not possibly have another, and held to the plan of bleeding the invasion on the beaches for better terms. A second city destroyed seventy-five hours later shattered the illusion: if they can drop one every three days, they may have twenty — or two hundred. As for simply telling Tokyo? There were no channels beyond dropped leaflets and slow relays through neutral capitals. You could not, as Andrew noted, email in those days.•       In the Room Where It Happened. Scott's method — borrowed, he says, from Hamilton — is to put readers in the room: the White House, the Imperial Palace, and above all the streets. He has interviewed survivors in Tokyo, Hiroshima, and Nagasaki across multiple books, and the physics of the firestorm connects all three: heat that melts concrete, fuses coins into lumps, welds roof tiles to kitchenware. Only five photographs were taken in Hiroshima on the day of the blast — stunned people, sitting. Organized rescue took thirty hours to arrive. In Nagasaki, the thirsty and burned waded into the river to die, so many that their bodies formed a dam. Radiation sickness began within thirty minutes. These are beautiful, functioning cities today, Scott notes — which is exactly why the accounts matter.•       No Regrets, No Verdict. Truman defended the decision to his grave — and then some: when Hiroshima's city council passed a resolution in 1958 urging him toward remorse, he wrote back that Japan had started the war, then held a press conference at his museum in Independence to distribute the reply. The Oppenheimer film's chilly Oval Office scene is overdramatized, Scott thinks, but true to the core: the buck — and the moral weight — stopped with the commander-in-chief, not the scientists. Scott himself, pointedly, renders no verdict: “Nobody needs to hear James Scott in Charleston, South Carolina tell you what it is you should think.” Both sides laid out, 95 percent of the documents public, the reader left to grapple — which is perhaps why Black Snow sold well in Japan, and why Empire of Ashes will be published there next August 6. About the Guest James M. Scott is a Pulitzer Prize finalist, New York Times bestselling author, and former Nieman Fellow at Harvard, widely regarded as America's leading historian of the Pacific War. His books include Target Tokyo (Pulitzer finalist), Black Snow, Rampage, The War Below, and, with Jack Carr, Targeted: Beirut. A scholar-in-residence at The Citadel who leads battlefield tours across the Pacific, he lives in Charleston, South Carolina. Empire of Ashes: Truman, Hirohito, and the Descent into Total War (W. W. Norton) is out now. References: •       Empire of Ashes: Truman, Hirohito, and the Descent into Total War by James M. Scott (W. W. Norton). The Charleston Post and Courier: “An amazing accomplishment.”•       Black Snow by James M. Scott — the firebombing of Tokyo, and the book whose cut Hiroshima chapters beca...

“Intelligence is 100 percent human. AI is a tool created by humans to distill, digest, and distribute intelligence.” — Keith Teare The working class died this week — at least in Palo Alto. Delivering the eulogy in our regular That Was The Week tech summary is my co-host Keith Teare. “Humans create intelligence,” (whatever that means) the Silicon Valley-based entrepreneur tells us. And so, in our AI age of supposedly abundant intelligence, he pronounces, human knowledge “should not be trapped inside experts, institutions, or companies.” Check your pockets, everyone. Silicon Valley has another freebie for you. With AI, the entrepreneur promises, intelligence is democratized. Everybody gets it. We will all have the intelligence of a Nobel laureate at our fingertips. Even Keith. And so he attacks Daron Acemoglu, the Nobel Prize-winning MIT economist who has called for a “pro-worker AI.” But, for Keith — a council-estate kid from Yorkshire whose lifetime ambition was to evacuate the working class — this is “complete bullshit.” Acemoglu's ideas, he says, are an example of the “fetishization of workers” when, in fact, we should be celebrating the end of the “working class.” What Acemoglu is calling for in his pro-worker AI manifesto is more government planning for today's transition to the AI epoch. But Keith disagrees. So I asked him three times what government should do while AI kills the working (and middle) class. “Allow it to happen,” he finally answers. “A good upheaval.” Good? The former “worker” will lack jobs, wages, healthcare, housing. Even food in an America now eliminating food stamps. No matter. Let them eat intelligence. Five Takeaways •       Humans Create Intelligence. Keith's editorial thesis distinguishes individual intelligence — where experts live, and always will — from the collective sum of everything all humans, living and dead, have ever contributed. That collective stock was once locked in encyclopedias, libraries, and universities; for the first time, AI can aggregate, distill, digest, and distribute it, at a price falling toward everyone. Knowledge, he writes, “should not be trapped inside experts, institutions, or companies” — but note the fine print: experts don't disappear in this democratization. If anything, they get elevated: the expert reading an AI's output about viruses understands it very differently than the rest of us.•       The End of the Age of Heroes? Noah Smith's much-shared essay argues that AI ends the era of the mathematical hero — and that's fine, since most people (truck drivers, financial advisers, executive assistants) never got to be heroes anyway. Keith's rebuttal turns on his central distinction: AI and intelligence are not the same word. There is no evidence, he argues, that AI creates new knowledge — it understands and distributes the existing stock. Innovation still takes individuals, and those individuals now start from a far higher floor, leveled up to everything already known. Heroes don't go away; they multiply. In the world of AI, he suspects, every single teacher becomes one.•       “What Even Is Pro-Worker AI?” The week's main event: Daron Acemoglu — via Yascha Mounk's Persuasion interview and an Atlantic essay, with What Happened to Liberal Democracy out next week — wants AI agencies, grant programs, and public competitions to build “pro-worker AI.” Keith's verdict: “complete bullshit.” The middle-class “fetishization of workers” is paternalistic; the wage is a temporary power relationship between employer and employee; and the end of the working class is precisely the progressive outcome — says the council-estate kid from Yorkshire whose aspiration was not to be working class. Pressed three times on what government should do amid the upheaval, Keith finally answered: “Allow it to happen… a good upheaval.” Though swap workers for people, he conceded, and he'd almost entirely agree — every teacher a hero, even in East Palo Alto.•       Bandwagons and Silences. Regular people are being arrested protesting data centers; Erin Brockovich — a Keen On guest some years back — is assembling class actions; Ezra Klein has begun folding anti-big-tech language into abundance. A politician-led bandwagon, Keith argues, regressive but keyed to genuine local concerns. The stranger fact is the silence on the other side: neither Altman nor Amodei nor Demis Hassabis is making the public case that AI benefits everybody — astonishing, Keith says, and the vacuum Acemoglu is trying to fill. Hassabis himself stepped aside at Google this week — a scientist returning to science as Sergey Brin becomes AI czar — while the Nobel-winning AlphaFold team has been quietly broken up. “Something strange is going on there.”•       A Drama in a Teacup. Is the AI economy real? Ed Zitron's stat — 70 percent of Amazon, Microsoft, and Google's AI revenue comes from OpenAI and Anthropic — is two-thirds right, says Keith, and no problem at all: beneath the concentration, the money comes from some two billion distributed users paying real subscriptions, and the revenues are sustainable. The Aschenbrenner postscript, via Porter Stansberry's post of the week: he bet the chip layer (Samsung, SK Hynix) when the value sat a layer up, got the timing wrong more than the thesis, sold to Citadel at a discount — and kept his Anthropic shares, remaining a multi-billionaire. As for the coming reality check: Anthropic and OpenAI will IPO only when public capital beats private, and SpaceX's wobble from $135 to $108 — through a 20 percent lockup release — counts as no catastrophe. Public markets, Keith reminds us, don't determine the success of the underlying business. About the Co-Host Keith Teare is the publisher of That Was The Week, the essential weekly tech newsletter, and founder and CEO of SignalRank Corporation. A serial entrepreneur — co-founder of, among others, EasyNet and RealNames — he was present at the creation of the UK internet and has spent four decades at the intersection of technology, capital, and ideas. He joins Keen On America every Sunday to make sense of the week in tech. His AI-assisted book in progress is titled Who Owns Intelligence. References: •       That Was The Week — Keith's newsletter, including this week's editorial, “Humans Create Intelligence.”•       Noah Smith — “The End of the Age of Heroes,” on what happens to human ambition when the machines do the math.•       Daron Acemoglu — the Yascha Mounk interview at Persuasion, the Atlantic essay on pro-worker AI, and What Happened to Liberal Democracy, out next week.•       The Financial Times — “Google's AI shakeup boosts Brin as DeepMind's Hassabis steps aside.”•       Ed Zitron — on the 70 percent of hyperscaler AI revenue that flows from OpenAI and Anthropic.•       Porter Stansberry — post of the week, on Leopold Aschenbrenner's losses, Citadel's discount, and the drama in a ...

“Democracy didn't fall out of the sky. It was earned. It was created, and it was made manifest through protest.” — Gloria Browne-Marshall Yesterday, Casey Michel described a United States of Oligarchy where the wealthy cosy up to dictators and destroy democracy. Today, Gloria Browne-Marshall describes a parallel America. In A Protest History of the United States, she explores 500 years of profound protest to what Michel coins the banality of the deal. If Casey Michel described the few who own the country, then Gloria Browne-Marshall chronicles the many who made it. Her thesis is that a nation born of protest has been protesting with itself ever since. So Thomas Jefferson wrote the Declaration of Independence while owning the teenaged Sally Hemings. Democracy is protest's child, not its parent. Rather than just falling out of the sky, she argues, American democracy was earned by protesters like her great hero, Daisy Bates, the Little Rock organizer whose mother was murdered by a white mob. So where's the protest now? “Too many people have outsourced their sense of outrage,” Gloria Browne-Marshall argues. Thus our Covid silos and the capitulating law firms. Her prescription for this malaise is, of course, to get out on the streets. She reminds us that the anniversary of the 1963 March on Washington, with its quarter of a million protesters, is coming up at the end of the month. So it's been done before. And will be done again. The United States of protest rather than of oligarchy. That's who we are. Sometimes, at least. Five Takeaways •       A Nation in Protest with Itself. America was born of protest — the Declaration itself was a protest document — and has argued with itself ever since: the empire builder rolling over the rights of others on one side, liberty-and-justice-for-all on the other. Jefferson embodies the conflict: theorist of protest, author of the Declaration, slaveholder at Monticello with the teenaged Sally Hemings. And the artists matter as much as the marchers, Browne-Marshall argues, in a hand-off from Monday's Curtis White conversation: the Depression photographs that moved a government, The Grapes of Wrath doing what no pamphlet could — art brings the humanity of the issue to the fore.•       Democracy Didn't Fall Out of the Sky. Asked about the d-word, Browne-Marshall answers that she expected it to be dissent. Democracy came by way of protest: the workers, the women, the marginalized earned rights nobody was volunteering to hand over. Vernon Dahmer was burned alive in his Mississippi home in 1966 — in a democracy — for trying to vote; Seneca Falls in 1848 became the Nineteenth Amendment only in 1920. The Voting Rights Act gave nobody the vote; it protected a right people were dying to use. And protest's victories hide in plain sight: the end of mandatory retirement at 65, disabled children in mainstream classrooms — all of it protested into existence.•       January 6 and the Meaning of Nonviolence. Is January 6 a protest? Yes, she allows — a protest with criminal consequences, like any protest that turns violent; rob a bank and call it a protest against poverty and the consequences still arrive. Nonviolence, meanwhile, is the most misunderstood word in the American vocabulary: a philosophy — Gandhi to Bayard Rustin to King — in which protesters will not strike back even when attacked. It is not a standard that applies only to Black protesters while the actual violence, historically, comes from those attacking them. January 6, with its gallows, its ransacked offices, and its hunted officials, was many things; nonviolent protest it was not.•       No Pension Fund: Daisy Bates. Browne-Marshall's favorite figure in the book: the Little Rock organizer who learned at nine that the woman raising her was not her mother — her mother had been murdered by a white mob and thrown in the pond where Daisy swam as a child. She guided the Little Rock Nine into Central High under armed National Guard escort amid daily death threats; as NAACP secretary she chose jail over surrendering the membership list, a refusal that went to the Supreme Court; she faced sexism inside the movement itself, spoke before the United Nations — and died nearly penniless, fed by neighbors. Protest has no vacation plan and no pension fund. (Mother Jones was smuggled into the same answer. “You're cheating.” “I know. I am.”)•       Outsourced Outrage. Why the relative quiet now? COVID scattered Americans into silos; the administration's shock-and-awe blitz kept them off balance; masked, nameless ICE agents and capitulating law firms (Paul Weiss, by name) spread fear; and — echoing Claire Stapleton's moral-compass warning from earlier this week — “too many people have outsourced their sense of outrage,” mistaking an email or an Instagram post for action. What's needed: leaders willing to fight, strategy and alliances, visible plans, and a protest that is for something — democracy, diversity, health, literacy. The model remains the March on Washington, whose anniversary falls August 28: one hundred organizers, a quarter-million regular people, and a government reminded of its own Constitution. About the Guest Gloria J. Browne-Marshall is a professor of constitutional law at John Jay College of Criminal Justice, a civil rights attorney, and an award-winning playwright whose work has been staged and televised. Her books include She Took Justice, The Voting Rights War, and Race, Law, and American Society. She is the founder of Martyrs Day, observed July 5 in honor of slain protesters, and host of the forthcoming She Took Justice podcast. A Protest History of the United States (Beacon Press, ReVisioning History series), winner of the 2026 Independent Publisher Book Awards gold medal for history, is now out in paperback. She lives in New York City. References: •       A Protest History of the United States by Gloria J. Browne-Marshall (Beacon Press) — 500 years of resistance, from Powhatan's stand against the English in 1607 to the climate protests of today.•       Curtis White's On Resistance — Monday's Keen On conversation on cultural resistance, to which this episode is the historian's reply.•       Claire Stapleton's Don't Be Evil — whose warning against outsourcing your moral compass finds its twin in Browne-Marshall's “outsourced outrage.”•       The Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck — her example of art doing what no pamphlet can: bringing the humanity of an issue to the fore.•       Daisy Bates and the Little Rock Nine — Central High School in Little Rock still stands as what Browne-Marshall calls a living monument to protest.•      &nbs...

“Jared Kushner is one of the most powerful American diplomats of the twenty-first century — and he has no skill set to speak of that I can see.” — Casey Michel Four years ago, the muckraking journalist Casey Michel came on this show to discuss how the United States has built the greatest money-laundering scheme in history. That pre-Trump 2.0 America, he says, looks quaint. His new book, United States of Oligarchy: How America's Wealthiest Ally with Dictators, Weaken the U.S., and Destroy Democracy, describes an American casino where the Trump family has become the dealer with a perennially stacked deck. The word “oligarchy” comes with 2,500 years of baggage. Aristotle, not averse to aristocracy, nonetheless warned of the rule of the few. Teddy Roosevelt preferred “plutocracy” as a way of describing the baronial rule of the late 19th century American capitalists. And, of course, it took a Roosevelt — the sickly scion of upper-crust New York — to dilute his own oligarchic caste with anti-trust law and inheritance & progressive income taxes. Exhibit A in this American oligarchy is Jared Kushner, who has leveraged his father-in-law's rotten casino to ally with dictators and destroy democracy both in America and around the world. Michel says Kushner has “no skill set to speak of” — apart, of course, from an insatiable greed for wealth and power. The banality of the deal. So what to do? Michel is waiting for a 21st century Teddy Roosevelt — he names Talarico and Ossoff — who will tax and perhaps even prosecute Kushner and his fellow oligarchs. But I fear he is waiting for Godot. Teddy isn't coming back. Nor is FDR. Don't expect the banality of the current highly lucrative deal to end anytime soon. Five Takeaways •       Child's Play. The anonymous shell companies and mystery donations of American Kleptocracy — dire enough in 2022 — now read as quaint. The scale has exploded (crypto, prediction markets, AI as accelerant), and so has the shamelessness: a Qatari luxury airliner gifted to a sitting president, and a $1.8 billion slush fund that will compensate January 6 rioters while granting Trump's family, inner circle, and “associates” carte blanche from tax audits, past and future. America has had corrupt administrations — Grant, Harding, Nixon — but nothing, Michel argues, on this magnitude. Trump himself is symptom rather than cause: the culmination of trends decades in the making. “Shameless does not begin to describe it. I have to laugh — otherwise, I'm sure I'd just be crying.”•       From Aristotle to the Trillionaire. Aristotle popularized oligarchy: rule of the few — who must also be the wealthiest. Teddy Roosevelt preferred “plutocracy,” and the Founders fought over “aristocracy”; Michel meets the 2020s where they are. The through line he found in the research: America's anti-oligarchic champions come from inside the elite — above all TR, the sickly, bloodlet, electroshocked child of upper-crust New York who grew into the singular force against concentrated wealth: inheritance tax, progressive income tax, and a bully pulpit used without apology. Today's benchmark: Gilded Age fortunes — Rockefeller's $30 billion in modern terms — are pocket change beside centibillionaires and America's first, briefly minted trillionaire.•       Exhibit A: Jared Kushner. One of the most powerful American diplomats of the twenty-first century — Israel and Gaza, Russia and Ukraine, the Gulf — with, in Michel's judgment, no skill set to speak of: a string of failures from 666 Fifth Avenue to the New York Observer, redeemed by the single best thing he ever did, marrying Ivanka Trump. MBS bragged Kushner was “in his pocket”; James Comer told an intermediary to tell him to fuck off — making Kushner, Michel suggests, a genuinely bipartisan target for future investigations. Andrew pushed back — the network of autocrats is real, the Harvard degree is real — and the conversation settled on Arendt: not evil, but indifferent to good and evil. What Kushner cares about: Ivanka and her father, his bottom line, and carrying water for Benjamin Netanyahu.•       The Incentive Machine. Michel's deeper argument indicts structures, not sinners: virtually none of this is illegal, which is precisely the problem. Corporate secrecy, campaign finance, and offshore taxation build an architecture in which allying with dictators is the rational move — if your competitor will meet MBS or Xi, you must too. Hence the corporate class's standing ovation for Xi Jinping in San Francisco; Google's Project Dragonfly censorship engine; Musk's Tesla leverage in Beijing (and DOGE actions conspicuously in Chinese interest); the NBA's progressive branding beside its Rwandan and Emirati partnerships; and Ireland, the thriving democracy at the bottom of the tax-haven barrel. Michel is happy to call the CCP one of history's most monstrous regimes — and to note that no ideology, only rank financial interest, lays American CEOs at its feet.•       Waiting for Teddy. Does oligarchy actually weaken America? Michel points to the Iran war's aftermath — collapsed interceptor stocks, an intact Tehran regime, Gulf monarchs getting their dirty business done at American expense — plus Greenland threats, wobbling alliances, and the nuclear proliferation he expects among abandoned allies. Andrew pressed the counter-case three times: Wall Street at record highs, half of America holding retirement accounts. Michel's answer: inequality beyond anything in the national experience — and a political moment, left and right, hungry for anti-oligarchic leadership. The GOP just moved to kill the shell-company database; the remedy is a twenty-first-century TR — a Talarico, an Ossoff — willing to be denounced as a communist agitator. “If Teddy Roosevelt can be, I suppose anyone can.” About the Guest Casey Michel is an author, investigative journalist, and director of the Combating Kleptocracy Program at the Human Rights Foundation. He is the author of American Kleptocracy — named by The Economist one of the best books for understanding financial crime — and Foreign Agents, and his writing on offshoring, foreign lobbying, and illicit wealth appears in The New York Times, Financial Times, The Atlantic, and Foreign Affairs, among others. He has testified before the Senate Judiciary Committee on illicit financial networks and national security, holds a master's from Columbia's Harriman Institute, and is currently sanctioned by the Russian regime for his work. United States of Oligarchy (St. Martin's Press, August 4, 2026) is his third book. References: •       United States of Oligarchy by Casey Michel (St. Martin's Press, Augu...

“We were still trying to change the world from the inside… and the empire struck back.” — Claire Stapleton on the Google Walkout Earlier this week, the New York Times published an op-ed on how to fight back against big tech which included a reading list from previous guests on the show like Karen Hao, Yanis Varoufakis and Astra Taylor. Not included was Claire Stapleton's Don't Be Evil: Bad Bosses, Fake Promises, and My Escape from Big Tech. Partly, I assume, because this anti-Google jeremiad only came out yesterday. An idealistic English major straight out of college, Stapleton joined Google in 2007, when few questioned Silicon Valley's utopian language. Her first job was in Google's ministry of truth, an internal communications department designed, as she now admits, to get everybody high on the mission. And that mission was to train Googlers into becoming obedient corporate cogs by neither blaming the system nor questioning authority. While not exactly Winston Smith, she nonetheless rose in the bureaucracy. Rachel Whetstone (Steve Hilton's wife) promoted Stapleton to the CEO's communications team where, as the archivist of the sayings of the company's two big brothers (Larry & Sergey), she became known as the “Bard” of Google. As an obedient corporate cog, she was both the message and the messenger. Until she wasn't. Like Orwell's Smith, Google's Claire Stapleton eventually turned her ministry of truth language on the ministry itself. In response to the $90 million exit package of a senior Google exec accused of sexual misconduct, she co-organized the Google Walkout of 20,000 employees. Two months later, her role was hollowed out. Then she lost her job. Not quite Room 101. No rats. But not a lot of fun. So is Google evil? Stapleton doesn't know. But the former Bard of Google acknowledges that Larry & Sergey's promises of making the world a better place are no longer credible. Today, idealistic young college grads want to fight back against Silicon Valley. Today, nobody outside the internal communications department of Google, OpenAI or Anthropic believes that technology is making the world a better place. Like Claire Stapleton, we all now want to escape from big tech. Five Takeaways •       Getting High on the Mission. Google in 2007 wasn't selling a job; it was selling a worldview — and Stapleton's department, internal communications, existed to pump the mission, the values, and the founders' folksy TGIF theater into a workforce growing by tens of thousands. The perks were the philosophy made visible: laundry, haircuts, dentists, masseurs — “letting Google be your housewife.” The indoctrination had a curriculum, too: Fred Kofman's “radical accountability” training taught new hires to be players, not victims — which sounds empowering until you notice, as Stapleton did in a G-chat to her brother, that it means never blaming the system: “today I learned that if my team is dysfunctional, it's my fault.”•       The Bard of Google. Rachel Whetstone — ex-London, politically shrewd, now married to California's Republican gubernatorial nominee — drafted Stapleton onto Larry Page's communications when Page retook the CEO job, making her the archivist of the founder's vision (until, in a twist she still can't quite believe, he literally lost his voice). From there: Creative Lab, “the alchemist lab of Google's branding,” wrapped in change-the-world gobbledygook; then YouTube's curation team, a job so dispensable that nobody on earth would notice if it stopped — David Graeber's bullshit jobs made flesh, complete with colleagues vanishing to the gym for hours. Her bad bosses, she notes, were workaday and familiar — which is precisely the point. Laszlo Bock's Work Rules explains why Google tried to constrain managers' power: given too much, they abuse it, pettily.•       Normie, Not Whistleblower. Unlike Sarah Wynn-Williams' Careless People — a whistleblower's damning portrait of Zuckerberg and Sandberg — Don't Be Evil is a coming-of-age story from the rank and file: earnest, unjaded, “normie.” What's genuinely new in it is the workers'-eye view of the tech-labor moment: a company that hired idealists on the promise of changing the world, then watched the worker-management relationship transform with whiplash speed once those idealists asked what corporate accountability actually looks like. “We were still trying to change the world from the inside, from a different direction, as we lumbered our way through labor organizing 101… and the empire struck back.”•       The Walkout and the Bill. The rupture came in 2018: the Me Too summer, an engineer's memo against diversity itself, and the Times' revelation of Andy Rubin's $90 million exit after credible harassment findings. The moms listserv lit up; at TGIF, management read talking points “designed to absorb dissent, project empathy, and move right along” — radicalizing the woman who used to write them. The Walkout drew 20,000 employees. The bill arrived two months later: her role hollowed out, transfers blocked across the organizer group, Meredith Whittaker's role dismantled, the rubber room. The group went public — the nuclear option — and Google offered severance. Stapleton, pregnant, asked for a year. An HR veteran's verdict, years later: “They sure got you out cheap.” And the villains of her story, she notes, were mostly women — her own management chain — while Susan Wojcicki offered the older generation's lament: you have no idea how hard it was for me.•       Don't Outsource Your Moral Compass. Is Google better than the rest? There's no noxious star — Sundar Pichai harmonizes rather than dominates — but the company owns the infrastructure of the digital world, and “is it more evil? less evil? I don't know.” The deeper shift is industry-wide: Larry Page's “treat workers well and they'll contribute tenfold” has become “your job could easily go to AI, so be grateful.” Her advice to the young and idealistic: keep some skepticism; hold your own values in your own mind; let work be part of your life without letting it take over; build solidarity instead of “letting the overlords do their overlord thing.” The good news, she suspects, is that the spell is breaking anyway: audiences now boo the AI ads in movie theaters. About the Guest Claire Stapleton is a writer, communications consultant, and tech labor activist. She spent twelve years at Google in communications, marketing, and executive ghostwriting roles — becoming known as “the Bard of Google” — before co-organizing the 2018 Google Walkout, in which 20,000 employees protested the company's mishandling of sexual harassment; The New York Times called it a watershed moment in tech. She writes an existential advice column for tech workers on Substack, and her account of her Google years, “The Voice of Google,” appeared in The New Yorker. Her first book is

“Uncertainty is what tells you that science is reliable. It's the people who are absolutely certain that you have to watch out for.” — Stuart Firestein The physician-scientist Tony Fauci is having a rough week. His newly revealed diary has even disappointed traditional allies at The Atlantic and The New Yorker who see the hitherto liberal saint of the pandemic as both too intimate with power and too certain of his scientific assumptions. Fauci's fellow American scientist, Stuart Firestein, is having a better week. The Columbia neurobiologist has a new book out today, It Could Be Otherwise, which is a manifesto against scientific certainty. It's the certain ones you have to watch out for, Firestein warns about those scientists intoxicated with the certainty of their own doctrines. Science, Firestein argues, requires a blend of hubris and humility. So the great Isaac Newton needed real chutzpah to claim to understand the mind of the creator with only a few equations. The expert is, by definition, riddled by doubt. They should be the most uncertain person in the room. Thus for Firestein, Charles Darwin is a greater scientist than Albert Einstein because Darwin's theory of life is premised on randomness. So will contemporary science appear quaintly medieval in 500 years? Will 26th century man think of Darwin and Einstein like we moderns patronize Aristotle? Probably, Firestein suggests. In his Columbia course on ignorance, he tells his students that getting an A requires getting an F. We should all be so ignorant. Five Takeaways •       Watch Out for the Certain Ones. Firestein won't defend Fauci's certainties, but he explains them: science requires a blend of hubris and humility — without some hubris, nobody would attempt a discipline that is mostly failure, mostly time spent in the dark. What corrupts the blend is a culture that demands the opposite of humility: exams with one right answer instead of ranked possibilities, journalists who need a confident quote, a public that has made science the theology of the twenty-first century. The result is Firestein's paradox of expertise: the real expert is the most uncertain person in the room, because expertise means seeing the holes, the missing data, the failures. Certainty grows with distance from knowledge.•       True Enough. Truth gets a small t only. Borrowing from the Harvard philosopher Catherine Elgin, Firestein describes science as moving from one provisional truth to the next — “true enough,” always improving, never final. His favorite proof is John Maddox, Nature's longest-serving editor, asked how many of the journal's published papers would prove wrong: “Oh, that's easy. All of them.” Not wrong-wrong — unsettled science is not unsound science; it is reliable and it will get better. In science, revision is a victory, which is why Firestein sincerely hopes that in five hundred years our best knowledge will look as quaint as medieval astronomy — which, he notes, was accurate enough for people who weren't launching satellites.•       Two Kinds of Uncertainty. Epistemic uncertainty is what we don't know yet; ontological uncertainty is the irreducible complexity of the universe itself — so complicated it might as well be random. Every answer in the lab raises ten better questions, which is how the more we know, the less we know. And yet we thrive amid the not-knowing: lasers, GPS, and randomized drug trials are all built on uncertainty. Ninety percent of hypertension diagnoses are idiopathic — no known cause — while nine different families of medicine treat it successfully. Even the brain, his own subject, isn't unknowable — we know plenty at every level — but the vertical knowledge, from ion channels to consciousness, may never reduce to a single formula. Multiple explanations, Firestein says, are not a defeat.•       Berlin, Darwin, and the Fox. The book's presiding philosopher is Isaiah Berlin, the great value pluralist: many good answers to any real question, even incommensurable ones — which is emphatically not relativism (the poststructuralists get no comfort here; we still must choose, critically and responsibly). Berlin's hedgehog and fox turn out to describe scientists too, and Firestein wants room for both. His scientific hero, though, is Darwin, whom he ranks above Einstein: the first person to show that tremendous organization and complexity can arise from essentially random events. Sixty-five million years ago, seven minutes of orbital difference and the asteroid misses. Randomness and uncertainty, properly understood, produce diversity and complexity — not chaos.•       When AI Learns to Be Uncertain. AI appears exactly once in the book, a restraint Firestein is proud of: “we hate the bomb, but we love anesthesia,” and it's the use, not the thing, that will decide. Socrates was famously against writing — it did ruin our memories, and libraries were worth it; calculators did ruin long division, and who cares. In the classroom, the smell scientist admits you can no longer smell Claude in an essay — hence his ignorance course's 999-word assignment, harder than the 5,000 words Columbia students write in their sleep. But his sharpest cut is at AI itself: the machines will be valuable to the extent that they are uncertain. When AI learns to weigh possibilities rather than issue single solutions, it will be intelligent — it will be human. A deterministic tick-tock universe is no place for discovery, imagination, or freedom. It could be otherwise. About the Guest Stuart Firestein is a professor of neuroscience at Columbia University, where his laboratory studies the sense of smell, and a member of the Santa Fe Institute. A Guggenheim fellow and elected fellow of the American Association for the Advancement of Science, he is the author of Ignorance: How It Drives Science and Failure: Why Science Is So Successful, both translated into more than a dozen languages; he remains an Honorary Fellow of King's College, Cambridge, where Failure was written. His new book is It Could Be Otherwise: Science in the Age of Uncertainty (Basic Books, August 4, 2026). References: •       It Could Be Otherwise: Science in the Age of Uncertainty by Stuart Firestein (Basic Books, August 4, 2026). Kirkus: “A solid and even stirring defense of science.”•       Ignorance: How It Drives Science by Stuart Firestein — the 2012 book, born of his Columbia course, that made not-knowing respectable.•       The Hedgehog and the Fox by Isaiah Berlin — the essay, and the value pluralism, that give the book its philosophical spine.•       True Enough by Catherine Elgin — the Harvard ph...

“Misbehave, make something beautiful, and try to win.” — Curtis White's motto for resistance How to say no to fascism? Curtis White, the literary thinker dubbed “the splendidly cranky utopian,” has published what he calls a “manifesto” of “resistance.” On Resistance, the 75-year-old White told me, is his last work of non-fiction. He still has worlds to invent, novels to write. Enough with the manifestos. But don't expect a program. On Resistance is more of an anti-manifesto. “That's not for me to say,” White responds when asked what, exactly, we're supposed to do to resist fascism. His resistance is cultural. It's an attitude. Borrowing from Ted Gioia's subversive history of music, White likes the idea of “psychic treason.” Its patron saints are the first dropouts, romantics like Wordsworth and Coleridge who rejected the military, clergy and family to write poetry in the countryside. But On Resistance isn't simply sixties nostalgia. White, a veteran of Berkeley and the Haight, prefers the Nietzschean imperative to forget the past and move on to the next joyful deed. So the only good manifesto is the anti-manifesto. If you want to say no to fascism, become a cranky utopian. Or at least pick up On Resistance. Five Takeaways •       Psychic Treason. White's resistance is not conventionally political — Trump appears once or twice, party politics not at all. Borrowing “psychic treason” from Ted Gioia's Music: A Subversive History, he argues that the arts are subversive by nature: sometimes formally, sometimes by allying with social movements. His founding example is the Romantics, the first dropouts — Wordsworth and Coleridge refusing the military, the clergy, and the family estate to write poetry in the countryside, declaring cultural war once the church was out of the way. The treason White wants is the one the arts commit constantly, whether or not anyone calls it politics.•       Not Nostalgia — Nietzsche. The sixties made White: Berkeley in high school, San Francisco after, and the formative discovery that his country “had lied to me” and was indifferent to whether he lived or died. But On Resistance opens with the confession “I am living in a world that no longer exists” — and refuses to make anyone else live there. One chapter is bluntly titled “Forget The Beatles.” His position is Nietzschean: move on to the next joyful deed. And the rot, he insists, didn't start with Trump but with Reagan — the decades-long withdrawal of public money from public goods, education above all.•       The Three False Resistances. The book's first half is ideology critique: our culture says resistance is unnecessary because it has already been provided — by philanthropy, virtuous corporations, and liberalism. White's exhibits: Steve Jobs Buddha-branding the counterculture to sell machines to people who thought they were subverting something; the “big green” foundations (via Mark Dowie) taking over grassroots fights and defanging them; the Gates Foundation vaccinating children against polio downwind of a polluter it was invested in. Philanthropy, he argues, self-limits to protect the source of its own wealth. Patagonia may be the quiet exception that proves the rule.•       Dropping Out, Together. White's alternative is dropping out — plural: doing something else, and doing it with other people. The organic farms and farmers markets that have created communal well-being in most American cities; FC2, the author-run press he co-founded with Ronald Sukenick, past its fiftieth anniversary; the thriving-but-invisible independent presses — Graywolf, Coffee House, Rochester's Open Letter — for which he's now plotting a group Substack. The obstacle is the money jail: everyone's struggle for money limits what it is possible to do. The goal isn't overturning the status quo. “What we need right now is companions.”•       Misbehave, Make Something Beautiful, Try to Win. White's motto since The Middle Mind — the making beautiful needn't be art; the trying to win is where misbehavior gets socialized. His lineage runs Thoreau, Whitman, William Carlos Williams, and above all John Berger: Marxist, art critic, poet, writer of lively living books. His Marxism, such as it is, is the humanist 1844 Manuscripts — alienation, not expropriation — via Marcuse's One-Dimensional Man. And the book itself is the argument: playful and fierce, a performance that moves like a novel, reinvigorating worthy old ideas rather than hunting new ones. At 75, it's his last nonfiction — written in a spirit of play, to be left in one. About the Guest Curtis White is a novelist and social critic whose books include Memories of My Father Watching TV, The Middle Mind, The Science Delusion, and Living in a World That Can't Be Fixed. Called by Elle “the most inspiringly wicked social critic of the moment,” he is co-founder, with Ronald Sukenick, of FC2, the publisher of innovative fiction run collectively by its authors, and taught English for many years at Illinois State University. His new and, he says, final work of nonfiction is On Resistance: A Manifesto (Melville House, August 11, 2026). He lives in Port Townsend, Washington. References: •       On Resistance: A Manifesto by Curtis White (Melville House, August 11, 2026). Jeffrey St. Clair: “a trail guide through our disorienting and perilous political landscape.”•       Music: A Subversive History by Ted Gioia — the source of “psychic treason” and the argument that the arts subvert by nature.•       The Middle Mind by Curtis White — where the motto was coined: misbehave, make something beautiful, and try to win.•       Jon Taplin in Rolling Stone — the recent essay asking whether the counterculture can rise again, and a recent Keen On conversation in the same key.•       One-Dimensional Man by Herbert Marcuse — the Western Marxist tradition, via the 1844 Manuscripts, that taught White to worry about alienation rather than expropriation.•       FC2 — the author-run press of innovative fiction White co-founded with Ronald Sukenick, now past its fiftieth year. About Keen On America Nobody asks more awkward questions than the Anglo-American writer and filmmaker Andrew Keen. In Keen On America, Andrew brings his pointed Transatlantic wit to making sense of the United States — hosting daily interviews about the history and future of this now venerable Republic. With nearly 3,000 episodes since the show launched on TechCrunch in 2010, Keen On America is the most prolific intellectual interview show in the history of podcasting. WebsiteSubstackYouTube

“The human part is 99 percent. The AI part is maybe 1 percent — even if 100 percent of the manuscript was dumped onto the page by AI.” — Keith Teare on writing with AI What is “real” authorship in our AI age? For That Was The Week publisher Keith Teare, all authorship, even the most AI-enabled, is real. It's the cave-dwelling Luddites who are the sloppy ones. For Keith, true creativity, in our age of Claude and Gemini, almost requires the use of AI. A couple of weeks ago Keith confessed, or perhaps boasted, that he is writing an AI-assisted book entitled Who Owns Intelligence. This week, publishing discovered what happens when others play the same game without public acknowledgement. So we have the case of the “red-hot” debut novel, fought over by fourteen publishers, dropped overnight when the agent found AI in the mix. “It's a fantastic book,” the book's agent acknowledged, before firing its less than transparent author. Which, for Keith, is precisely the scandal. His position, argued in this week's editorial “AI Detected,” is pretty absolute. Nothing is written by AI, Keith argues, because AI has no will. It doesn't produce a single word unless asked. The human part is 99 percent, he says, even when 100 percent of the manuscript is spat out by the machine. So the real sin isn't using AI but not acknowledging its use. So, on Who Owns Intelligence, Keith makes it crystal clear that “AI was heavily used in the writing of this book.” I'm not so sure. Amazon is now infested with AI slop that requires no authorship. Besides, Keith clearly has no love of reading books. He admits to reading only a single volume in the last couple of years. And he's still smarting from being, in his mind at least, ripped off by the publishing industry for his last published book some 40 years ago. He no longer needs to read books, he pronounces, because his world-view is already set. For a man who thinks he knows everything, AI isn't scary. Maybe we should rename him Claude. Postscript. Full Keith-style disclosure: these shownotes were produced with the help of Anthropic. When I fed Claude my draft, it responded: “‘Maybe we should rename him Claude' is a closer I'm contractually obliged to enjoy.” Nothing, as Keith says, is written by AI. Although some algorithms seem to have cheeky opinions of their own. Maybe Anthropic should rename it Keith. Five Takeaways •       Nothing Is Written by AI. Keith's absolutism starts from the machine's lack of will: AI won't produce a word unless a human asks. His Who Owns Intelligence — fifteen chapters, arguments, and references — was structured in ninety minutes from years of thinking; the AI produced a manuscript he then shaped, like a color grader working sliders in Photoshop. The human part is 99 percent even when the machine types every word. And authorship was never solitary anyway: Plato's contemporaries thought writing itself degraded ideas, and no publisher will touch a book that hasn't passed through an editor and a subeditor. If editing doesn't change authorship, Keith asks, why would AI?•       Transparency, Not Technology. The week's cautionary tale: a debut novel fought over by fourteen publishers, dropped when the agent discovered AI — while conceding, in the same breath, “it's a fantastic book.” For Keith the scandal is concealment, not composition: own the tool, as he now does with a strapline under his byline. The detection regime, meanwhile, is collapsing on its own inaccuracy — universities dropped their AI detectors this week, and Substack's new detection partner scored Keith's human-shaped editorial as 100 percent AI when a fair reading was 40. Cheating exists only against obsolete rules: the question is moving from did you use AI to how well did you use it.•       “The Publishing Industry Is Basically a Scam.” Keith's response to Andy Hunter's ban on AI-generated books — from last week's Keen On interview — was one word: outrageous. There is no such thing as an AI-written book, only good and bad ones; and the true victim of publishing is not the bookstore but the author. Exhibit A: his own 1988 book sold 50,000 copies at £3.99 and earned him roughly £10,000 — about 5p a copy — while Penguin took the rest. The future he wants is direct, author-to-reader, without the middlemen. As for “organic” artisanal literature: real, elite, and tiny — the new vinyl, which is itself cut these days from digital masters.•       Sharks, Playing Their Own Book. Leopold Aschenbrenner — fired young from OpenAI, transfigured by one prophetic essay into the “Nostradamus of AI” — saw his $45 billion, heavily leveraged Situational Awareness fund lose $600 million, get margin-called, and sell to Ken Griffin's Citadel. (He is, Keith suspects, still super rich.) Zuckerberg's sudden conversion to open source as “the distribution of wealth to the people” struck us both as a bit rich; Amodei's “I'm not against open source as long as it's safe” — from a man on record that no AI is safe — translates as: against. Keith's deeper complaint, from an admiring Claude user: you can't trust Dario. And China, hardware-constrained, has made open source its national strategy — undermining American foundation-model revenue one cheap routed prompt at a time.•       Money Won't Matter by 2036? Elon Musk predicts money becomes irrelevant within a decade; Vinod Khosla — our post of the week — thinks he might just have a point. Keith, ever the economics tutor, reaches for tendency and ceteris paribus: money is a means of exchange and a store of value, and if abundance drives the labor-value of things toward zero, its irrelevance is not illogical — though between tendency and reality lies a whole ton of variables. I bet the opposite: that by 2036 money will matter more than ever. The problem, we discovered, is the stake — you can't bet money on money not mattering. Wives and children were proposed and hastily withdrawn (“We'd be losing, Andrew”). Loser buys dinner — at a free restaurant. About the Co-Host Keith Teare is the publisher of That Was The Week, the essential weekly tech newsletter, and founder and CEO of SignalRank Corporation. A serial entrepreneur — co-founder of, among others, EasyNet and RealNames — he was present at the creation of the UK internet and has spent four decades at the intersection of technology, capital, and ideas. He joins Keen On America every Sunday to make sense of the week in tech. His AI-assisted book in progress is titled Who Owns Intelligence. References: •       That Was The Week — Keith's newsletter, including this week's editorial, “AI Detected.”•       The Wall Street Journal — on the red-hot debut novel at the center of publishing's AI mystery: fourteen publishers, one discovery, one dropped author.•      ...

“Not everybody needs therapy. I'm a therapist and I'll tell you first.” — Amy Morin Is an epidemic of mental weakness sweeping America? Readers of the Wall Street Journal certainly might think so, given a couple of recent articles. In one, it reports on burnt-out singles who are using spreadsheets to evaluate their dates. In the other, young adults are taking their phones to social events and letting AI do their talking. Sad. So I invited Ms Mental Strength herself, Amy Morin — host of the Mentally Stronger podcast and author of The Mental Strength Playbook — to ask what's happened to American self-confidence in our AI age. Morin sees it daily in her own therapy office with patients relying on ChatGPT to set boundaries with their mothers-in-law. In a world of information overload, she argues, we've come to believe there must be a medical solution to all our complexities — forgetting that relationships are an art, not a science, and that conflict and awkward silences are features of human life rather than bugs. So the dinner-party guests who sneak off with their pocket supercomputers to the bathroom to ask ChatGPT for five “interesting” questions come back with canned questions that make them sound even less interesting. In contrast, Morin argues, real social confidence is built by taking risks. And it's no longer a risk, she suggests, to go to a therapist. It's become the equivalent of slinking into the bathroom with your phone to prompt conversation. Yes, this therapist worries we live in an overly therapeutic culture. Anxiety is normal, Morin says. But ADHD diagnoses and even autism have become a kind of moral passport in America. It's almost as if people should be anxious if they're not anxious. Her prescription is free. Not even the cost of a therapy session. Ask yourself, at the end of every day, what did I do today to grow mentally stronger? It's like going to the gym. Build up your mental strength. Become self-reliant. The standard American fix. That will kick your therapy habit. That will end the epidemic of mental weakness now engulfing the United States. Five Takeaways •       AI Is Doing Our Talking. The Wall Street Journal reports singles running spreadsheets on their dates and young adults letting AI script their conversations in person — and Morin sees the same thing in her therapy office, where clients ask ChatGPT how to set boundaries with their in-laws. The root, she argues, is information overload: because we can look up how to fix a sink, we assume there's a scientific way to reject a suitor or confront a friend. But relationships are an art, not a science. There is supposed to be tension; conflict isn't horrible; real human conversations — with questions, uncertainty, and lulls — are essential. What could be more important than managing your own relationships yourself?•       Avoidance Never Builds Confidence. The dinner-party guest who hides in the bathroom asking ChatGPT for five interesting questions comes out asking canned questions and listening to no one — panicking about what was next on the list. Relying on technology for what makes us insecure, Morin argues, is avoidance dressed as help: skills we don't practice diminish, so the app makes us worse, not better. Nor is the polished online persona sustainable — like fake photos on a dating profile, the eloquence collapses at the second coffee. Connection comes from vulnerability, not perfection: “I really struggle with X” bonds people; the perfect question does not.•       Thirteen Things, Fifty Million Readers. Morin's authority is autobiographical. Her mother died when she was 23; on the third anniversary of that death, her 26-year-old husband died of a heart attack; later her father-in-law received a terminal cancer diagnosis. On one of the worst days of her life she wrote herself a letter — 13 things mentally strong people don't do — and read it over and over. Published online for what she assumed would be five readers, it reached fifty million and became seven books in more than 45 languages. Mental strength, she learned, isn't resilience-as-bracing: it's getting the most out of life on the emotional roller coaster — good times included.•       Not Everybody Needs Therapy. Asked whether we live in an overly therapeutic culture, this therapist says yes. Anxiety is a normal emotion — without it you wouldn't look both ways — but pandemic-era applause for disclosure watered down the difference between sadness and clinical depression, awkwardness and social anxiety disorder. TikTok quizzes hand out ADHD; “burnout” now means tired; autism risks becoming a passport; and self-diagnosis becomes self-fulfilling prophecy. Meanwhile 96 percent of college students say they arrived academically prepared — and most say they arrived emotionally unprepared. As editor-in-chief of Verywell Mind, Morin went undercover on the online-therapy platforms: some therapists were excellent; others gave canned advice that frightened her. And the worried well, she warns, clog the six-month waiting lists the seriously ill cannot afford.•       Your Body Believes What Your Brain Tells It. The Guardian's Emma Beddington recently asked whether Morin's “power phrases” could turn a self-described spineless worm into a go-getter. Answer: yes — walk into a room thinking nobody likes me and your body language obliges; walk in resolved to do your best and it obliges again. Nobody changes their life by sitting on the couch thinking positive — action is required — but thought is the first step. Her daily practice: ask, what did I do today to grow mentally stronger? And the anger all around us? How we treat others reflects how we feel about ourselves — the troll's cruelty is a quick boost for a self he can't stand. Technology, finally, cuts both ways: never has expert advice been this free. Feed your mind well or feed it junk. Up to you. About the Guest Amy Morin is a psychotherapist, mental strength trainer, and internationally bestselling author whose books — including 13 Things Mentally Strong People Don't Do — have sold more than a million copies in over 45 languages. She has practiced therapy for more than twenty years, served as editor-in-chief of Verywell Mind, and hosts the award-winning Mentally Stronger podcast; her TEDx talk, “The Secret of Becoming Mentally Strong,” is among the most viewed of all time with more than 25 million views. Her new book is The Mental Strength Playbook: 50 Tools to Cope with Stress, Thrive Under Pressure, and Gain a Competitive Edge in the Workplace (Rodale, April 2026). She lives on a sailboat in the Florida Keys. References: •       The Mental Strength Playbook by Amy Morin (Rodale, April 2026). Lori Gottlieb: “Amy Morin shows you how to feel better and do better — starting right...

“Evil is reductive. But the impact of the business is evil, even if the intent isn't.” — Andy Hunter on Amazon Network effects transformed Amazon from a startup internet bookshop into today's $2.44 trillion everything store. The more ubiquitous its affiliate program became, the more powerful Amazon became. But, in today's digital economy, winner-take-all might not be winner-always-take-all. These network effects, you see, can be subverted. They might even be used as weapons against a seemingly dominant player like Amazon. Take, for example, Bookshop.org. Founded by Andy Hunter in 2020, this online bookstore has aggregated 3,000 independent bookstores, these affiliates contributing to a counter-Amazon network that already does 2% of Amazon's book business and will, within the next thirty days, pass $50 million distributed to local bookstores. When Hunter originally pitched the idea to Silicon Valley investors, they asked him if he could beat Amazon on price or speed. No. Then you don't have a chance, they told him, because Americans only care about price and speed. But they were wrong. Since Bookshop.org launched in 2020, American bookstores have grown from 1,900 to 3,300, with 90% of these independents joining Bookshop.org and 98% of booksellers polling the company as a positive force. His is a winner-share-all marketplace where stores keep the full profit of their own sales, while a $4.5 million annual profit pool flows to any real brick-and-mortar ABA bookstore. Nobody gets rich, Hunter says, but everybody does okay. Hunter suspects that if Bookshop.org grows to take 5% of Amazon's book market, things might turn nasty. Could Amazon just buy Bookshop.org, I asked. No, Hunter responded, all his investors signed a clause barring a sale to any major US retailer. So even if I got hit by an Amazon delivery truck, he explained, his mission couldn't be undone. So is Amazon evil? Not exactly evil, he explains, since evil requires malignant intent. But Amazon is more like fishermen who overfish until the stock collapses and wrecks their ecosystem beyond repair. That classic tragedy of the commons. Hence Bookshop.org's anti-Prime campaigns, which used Amazon's “discount” holiday as a way of generating an extra $1.2 million for its affiliate bookstores. Hunter wants to replace Amazon's seemingly infinite scalability with a more moral kind of scale. He imagines a Bookshop.org for everything from hardware stores and art supplies to bikes and toys. Silicon Valley's conventional winner-take-all economics would be replaced by a Robin Hood style winner-share-all model. Except for our tech bro friends, I suspect we would all be wealthier for it. Five Takeaways •       “Americans Only Care About Price and Speed.” That was the verdict of a 2019 conference call with twenty Silicon Valley angel investors: if Bookshop couldn't beat Amazon on price or speed, it had no chance. Hunter's counter-pitch: enough people care about their values when they shop — if supporting a local bookstore is made just as easy. His sharpest insight was the affiliate economy: by 2019 the internet had become one giant funnel pushing every reader toward Amazon, with the New York Times, NPR, BuzzFeed, and celebrity book clubs all earning Amazon kickbacks on their book coverage. Bookshop's universal link gave them an alternative that pays local bookstores instead. Nine months of rejection later, he had cobbled together $750,000 — with the publisher Morgan Entrekin introducing five of the original seven investors.•       Winner-Share-All. Bookshop is a marketplace, like Etsy: over 3,000 bookstores plus affiliates from Literary Hub to The Atlantic to Dakota Johnson's book club. Stores keep the full profit on their own sales; direct sales feed a profit pool — 33 percent of profits, about $4.5 million a year — shared with any real brick-and-mortar bookstore in the American Booksellers Association. Within thirty days, total distributions will pass $50 million. Hunter kept the raise tiny and refused venture capital to protect the mission: a $10 million check would have demanded a 10x return and a sale, and Bookshop's shareholder agreement bars any sale to Amazon, Walmart, or Target. The company runs on a 12.5 percent expense ratio and twelve engineers. Nobody gets rich; everybody does okay.•       The Comeback Numbers. Amazon put over half of America's bookstores out of business in two decades. Since Bookshop launched in 2020, the country has gone from 1,900 bookstores to 3,300 — seventy percent growth — and 73 percent of member stores grew in 2025. The rising tide lifts all boats: Bookshop grew 55 percent last year while stores' own websites grew 25 percent. Ninety percent of American independents have joined, and a poll of 3,000 booksellers found 98 percent view the company positively. Meanwhile Amazon's share of the book market is flat for the first time in twenty-three years. Bookshop has taken about 2 percent of Amazon's book customers — small enough to be useful anti-monopoly evidence, Hunter jokes, but a social movement in the making.•       Not Evil — Worse? Hunter refuses the word “evil”: evil requires malignant intent, and Amazon's managers are merely told to grow profits every quarter. The better analogy is overfishing — blind growth that destroys the ecosystem beyond repair. But the stakes are not merely commercial: bookstores bring authors to communities, raise new generations of readers, and — as the arrest of five Hong Kong booksellers reminds us — stand as the vanguard of free expression. No single company, good or evil, should control a market so essential to human consciousness. As for Bezos, once so interested in climate change: now it's rockets and data centers. “Evil is reductive. But the impact of the business is evil, even if the intent isn't.”•       The AI Flood. Did OpenAI and Anthropic steal from authors? “They were,” Hunter says — a conscious choice that stealing was faster than dealing, and now they're paying up because they got caught, in a race to be first that cuts regulatory, legal, and ethical corners. Meanwhile three times as many books are being added to Amazon each year than before AI — overwhelmingly scam books generated from search trends, uncopyedited, designed to defraud buyers rather than inform them. Bookshop tells its suppliers to keep AI books off the site entirely, with a tiny asterisk for serious poets making artistic investigations of AI. Hunter's standard is simple: these aren't books, they're scams — and no retailer who cares about customers should sell them. Including Amazon. About the Guest Andy Hunter is the founder and CEO of Bookshop.org, the online bookstore that supports local independent bookstores, launched in January 2020 and named by Time one of the year's most influential social-good companies. A longtime literary publisher and entrepreneur, he previously co-founded Electric Literature and Literary Hub. He lives in Brooklyn. References: •       Bookshop.org — the marketplace itself: shop any of 3,000+ independent bookstores, or let your purchase feed the profit pool.•   ...

Should the American Pope debate the American president about good and evil? The shameless Trump, one suspects, would relish a noisy cage match with a rival American celebrity. But Leo XIV has quietly declined the invitation — a refusal that the Catholic scholar Jack Hanson insists is neither cowardice nor convenience. Rather, as Hanson argues in this month's Harper's cover story, “Radical Reformation,” it's because the church has become the last global institution able to provide a coherent moral compass for our rootless times. The great irony, Hanson notes, is that the church was the first victim of the legitimacy conflagration now engulfing every other institution. His history begins in 1870, when Rome lost the Papal States and, for the first time in a millennium, had no earthly kingdom to defend. Ever since, the church has been reorienting itself — lately, against political, economic and military power. That opposition to worldly power was always a strand within the apostolic tradition, Hanson reminds us. Thus the Gospel's “antinomian communists” who stayed behind in plague cities, Thomas More's attack on private property, the 1891 Rerum Novarum, Dorothy Day, liberation theology. What's new is that the Vatican itself has embraced this political tradition of questioning Caesar. Then came 9/11. In the war on terror, Hanson argues, the secular West redefined its enemy not as a rival religion but as religion itself — and the church stopped being Western civilization's moral crown jewel. John Paul II's opposition to the Iraq War was a preview. Leo XIV's 40,000-word encyclical on AI — Magnifica Humanitas, complete with an apology for the church's role in slavery — is a more mature realization of this radical reformation. No wonder, then, that Leo has no interest in a cage match with Trump. “A direct debate with a president who's going to be out of office in a couple of years isn't in his interest. It's too small a task,” Hanson explains. As the latest in a very long line of God's representatives on earth, Leo is playing the long game. He can afford to wait out a noisy Caesar or two. Five Takeaways •       The Last Moral Voice. Institutional legitimacy — of churches, states, the organs of governance and community — is in free fall, and the great historical irony, Hanson argues, is that the Catholic Church was the first institution to face that crisis. When Rome lost the Papal States in 1870, it lost a thousand years of political centrality and has been reorienting itself ever since. Over the last twenty years, the church has ceased to see the West as its spiritual home and reconfigured itself as a genuinely global institution — positioned, almost paradoxically, against power as such. Which is how the paragon of institutional crisis has returned as maybe the last moral voice on the global stage.•       The Radical Tradition Was Always There. The subversive strain Hanson traces runs from the Gospel itself — the early Christians as “antinomian communists” who held everything in common and stayed behind in plague cities — through Thomas More's attack on the enclosures (the first great critique of private property in Western history), Leo XIII's 1891 Rerum Novarum, Dorothy Day's Catholic Worker, and Latin American liberation theology. Hanson doesn't flinch from the two Thomas Mores problem — the property radical was also a persecutor of heretics — because the church is full of sinners; you wouldn't need one otherwise. What's new is that the Vatican itself now orients toward the radical tradition rather than serving as the avatar of institutional power.•       9/11 Drove the Wedge. For most of the twentieth century the secular West treated the church as a civilizational feather in its cap. The war on terror changed that: the enemy was recast not as a rival religion but as religion as such — the new atheism was its rhetorical arm — and John Paul II's vociferous opposition to the Iraq War marked the rupture. Beneath it all, the secularization thesis (societies modernize, therefore secularize) had collapsed, its death usually dated to Iran in 1979. Reason and faith, Hanson argues, are far more intertwined than the twentieth century assumed — and, not coincidentally, the church and the left hit their historical nadirs together and are now showing signs of life together.•       Magnifica Humanitas: Arguing with the Machines. Leo XIV's 40,000-word encyclical on AI and humanity is remarkable, Hanson suggests, less for its conclusions than for its method: reasoned, humane argument addressed to people of all goodwill, in an age of universal bombast — from a leader with no personal stake in the outcome. It includes an apology for the church's involvement in slavery, an acknowledgment that the church itself once practiced the exclusionary humanism it now warns against. While subway billboards advise companies to “stop hiring human beings,” the church's real power, Hanson argues, is the legitimation of popular dissent: since Vatican II redefined the church as the People of God, the pope's voice works by inspiring people to find their own.•       Too Small a Task. Was the American pope elected to counter the American president? “His name wasn't mentioned once,” a conclave cardinal insisted — a denial Andrew files next to Casablanca's “shocked, shocked.” Either way, Leo refuses a direct debate with Trump, and Hanson insists this is the harder path, not the easier one: the pope aims to beat Trump on a higher register, shaping consciences in America and across the globe rather than winning a news cycle against a president who'll be gone in a couple of years. As for the evangelical prosperity gospel wing of MAGA: essentially in schism, Hanson says — not much to do with historical Christianity, politically or theologically. About the Guest Jack Hanson received his PhD in religious studies from Yale in 2024 and has taught there. His essays and criticism on religion, politics, and literature have appeared in Harper's and elsewhere. His cover essay, “Radical Reformation: The Catholic Church's Progressive Revival,” appears in the current issue of Harper's Magazine, the oldest continuously published monthly in America. He lives in upstate New York. References: •       “Radical Reformation: The Catholic Church's Progressive Revival” by Jack Hanson — the cover essay of the current Harper's Magazine.•       On Statesmanship by Steven B. Smith — yesterday's Keen On conversation on the crisis of secular authority, which opens this one.•       Rerum Novarum (1891) — Leo XIII's encyclical on capital and labor, the founding document of modern Catholic social teaching.•       Magnifica Humanitas — Leo XIV's 40,000-word encyclical on AI, technology, and the human person, including its apology for the church's involvement in slavery.•       Dorothy Day and the Catholic Worker — the American wing of the radical tradition Hanson traces.•&nb...

“The statesman is an educator who leads through language — who gives a people the language they need to think about themselves.” — Steven B. Smith on what makes a statesman Was Odysseus a statesman? The Yale political philosopher Steven B. Smith — who, by the way, can't beg, steal or borrow a ticket to Christopher Nolan's cinematic epic — offers a cautious yes. While Odysseus wasn't exactly a founder of states, he was, to borrow one of Homer's favorite words, “polytropos” — which translates as many-sided, a master of the political adaptability that Machiavelli demanded of his Prince. In his forthcoming On Statesmanship, Smith distinguishes the true statesman from the mere leader. All 195 states in the world have leaders, he says, almost none are blessed with statesmen. A genuine statesman, he explains, is an educator who leads his fellow citizens through language. So Lincoln's Gettysburg Address gave Americans new words to think about themselves. Just like de Gaulle's “certain idea of France” and Churchill's uncompromisingly defiant language in 1940. For statesmen, timing is everything. “Fortune is a woman,” Machiavelli advised his Prince, so she should be mastered adventurously. Many are called, few are chosen. But then they are unchosen. That same unbowed Churchill spent a decade in the political wilderness before 1940, then got booted out of office at the end of the war. Hegel called such figures world-historical individuals — used by history, then cruelly discarded. Ironically, it's “great” men of history like Odysseus and Churchill who are most vulnerable to its female fortune. On Statesmanship is equally clear about who doesn't qualify for this exclusive club. Smith argues that Lenin, Hitler, and Napoleon might have founded states, but weren't statesmen because they had no respect for the rule of law. Nor is the club purely Western, white, or male. Mandela, Havel, Gandhi, and MLK all qualify as “statesmen without states.” Singapore's Lee Kuan Yew makes the cut as a constitutionalist if not a democrat. Fortune might be a woman, but Margaret Thatcher and Indira Gandhi mastered fate with more adventure than their male colleagues. Political leadership these days, Smith says, is monopolized by either technocrats or demagogues. In fact, Smith can only name one true contemporary statesman — Volodymyr Zelensky who, he says, is “doing a stirring imitation of Winston Churchill.” Otherwise the world is drifting into Thucydides' trap where the strong do what they like and the weak suffer what they must. Thus our longing for many-sided leaders like Odysseus. Which is why Nolan's blockbuster is such a hit that Steven Smith has yet to see it. One small footnote to this conversation. Afterwards, Smith sent me a note expressing a correction of how he described Obama: “Reflecting back on the conversation, I was embarrassed about what I said about Obama lacking ‘civil courage.' That is not exactly what I meant. Probably a better formulation would be to say that he lacked what Plato called ‘thymos,' a kind of public-spirited anger. His rationality and ‘coolness' — in many ways admirable traits — gave the impression that he was too aloof from the rough-and-tumble of politics. Anger and indignation when judiciously employed, as my former student Amia Srinivasan has argued, remain formidable tools in the statesman's tool kit.” Five Takeaways •       A Leader Is Not a Statesman. There are 195 states in the world and every one has a leader; almost none has a statesman. The concept is an ideal of what leadership aspires to be, running from Plato's Politikos and the philosopher-king to the present. The statesman has the usual leadership virtues — foresight, courage, determination, a willingness to say unpopular things — but Smith's central claim is different: the statesman is an educator who leads through language, giving a people the words they need to think about themselves. Lincoln's Gettysburg Address shaped how Americans understand their republic; de Gaulle led with “a certain idea of France”; Churchill and Disraeli wrote the British self-image.•       Timing — and the Tragedy. Statesmanship is a matter of the ripe moment, and the moment is cruel. Churchill spent the 1930s in the political wilderness, changed parties, presided over Gallipoli — and yet when 1940 came, he was there, prepared; the instant peace was established, the voters discarded him. Lenin resolved the Marxists' endless debate about whether Russia was “ripe” by deciding that ripeness was a matter of willpower. Hegel called such figures world-historical individuals — Caesar, Napoleon, Alexander — whom history uses for its purposes and then throws away. Even without Hegel's grand narrative, Smith notes, statesmen are routinely and cruelly discarded by their own people. There is a tragedy built into the art.•       Who's Out — and Who's In. Lenin, Hitler, and Napoleon founded states, but founders of tyrannies are not statesmen: for Smith the modern statesman is inseparable from constitutionalism — rule of law, balance of powers, the capacity to listen and accept less than the whole loaf. Nor is the club white, Western, or male. Mandela, Havel, Gandhi, and Martin Luther King appear as “statesmen without states,” shaping nations before or without holding office; Lee Kuan Yew qualifies as a constitutionalist if not a democrat; Thatcher — who famously told a wobbling American president to stiffen — and Indira Gandhi practice statecraft at the highest level. As for the word itself: Smith keeps “statesman.” “Statesperson,” he rules, is ugly.•       The Anti-Statesmen: Technocrat and Demagogue. Smith's chapter on anti-statesmen identifies the two failed models of modern leadership: the technocrat, a problem-solver-in-chief without a narrative, and the demagogue — a Greek word, and a breed democracies reliably produce — who rules through fear, intimidation, and humiliation. Trump, mentioned barely twice in the book, is filed under the latter, classically. Obama remains Smith's enigma: civic seriousness and dazzling rhetorical gifts — yet lacking, Smith suggests on reflection, what Plato called thymos, a kind of public-spirited anger. Obama's rationality and coolness, admirable in themselves, gave the impression of a man too aloof from the rough-and-tumble of politics; anger and indignation, judiciously employed — as Smith's former student Amia Srinivasan has argued — remain formidable tools in the statesman's tool kit. The Democrats, Smith argues, are trapped between both failed models, and need what Lincoln, FDR, JFK, and Reagan had: an affirmative story of America to embed themselves in.•       One Statesman Standing. Asked to name a contemporary statesman, Smith offers exactly one — “and I say God bless him”: Volodymyr Zelensky, doing a stirring imitation of Winston Churchill, showing guts and magnanimity in a horrible moment for his people. Otherwise: seven British prime ministers in a decade, and a paucity everywhere else. Statesmen, Smith warns, cannot simply be willed into existence. And the alternative is already visible — the world of Thucydides, where the strong do what they like and the weak suffer what they must, carved into spheres of influence by Iran, Russia, and China. That is what a w...

“It's too easy to look back at sciences of the past and say they were all fools. The exact same thing is gonna happen two hundred years from now when people look back at us.” — Paul Stob on the lessons of phrenology Step right up. Over the road from P.T. Barnum's American Museum in 19th century New York stood the city's more metaphorical circus — the Phrenological Cabinet, where admission was free and you could hold a murderer's skull in your hand. After the Barnum museum, it was the second most popular show in town. Although back then phrenology — the supposed science of skull size and head bumps — wasn't seen as the province of tricksters or clowns. So who created this 19th century American obsession with skulls, who created the phrenology phenomenon? In his new book, Empire of Skulls, the Vanderbilt scholar Paul Stob tells the phrenology story through the wealthy Fowler family — Orson, Lorenzo, and Charlotte — who financed and promoted this American circus. It was the Fowlers, Stob explains, who shaped phrenology into the intellectual glue of 19th century American progress and convinced reformers like Walt Whitman, Susan B. Anthony, John Brown, and Elizabeth Cady Stanton of its social value. The appeal was self-improvement, that most American ideal. In Europe, your skull was your fate; in Fowler's America, you could supposedly reshape your brain like a bicep in order to grow new bumps. A gym for skulls. And, in P.T. Barnum fashion, it toured, bringing replica skull collections to the utopian communes of mid 19th century America. And in good (or bad) American fashion, this bunk often had a darker subtext with skulls pilfered from native burial mounds and, inevitably, a slaveholding phrenologist wing. Not everyone bought a ticket. Mark Twain visited Lorenzo Fowler's London depot incognito and was told his skull shape indicated an absence of humor. Three months later, he reappeared, this time as Twain, and got the reverse prognosis. But what finally killed phrenology wasn't Twain but the hitherto unparalleled bloodshed of the Civil War. Not even the Fowlers could glean much positive from the mountains of actual skulls at Gettysburg or Antietam. The circus had ended. Now it's the Fowlers who are the freaks. We gawk at them rather than their skulls. Step right up. The show must go on. Five Takeaways •       The Intellectual Glue of American Reform. From the 1830s to the 1860s — the era of reform — practically every movement to improve the young republic was led by believers in phrenology: abolition, women's suffrage, temperance, prison and education reform. Whitman, Susan B. Anthony, John Brown, Stanton, and Mott were all sympathetic; Orson Fowler barnstormed Massachusetts with his Amherst friend Henry Ward Beecher, who swore by phrenology for the rest of his life; John Brown Jr. worked at the Fowlers' Phrenological Cabinet until Bleeding Kansas called him west. The reason was one word: improvement. Even the enslaved, the phrenologists argued, must be freed — because every human being deserves the chance to improve.•       Curl Your Brain Like a Bicep. European phrenology said your skull was your fate. The Fowlers Americanized it: exercise a mental faculty, they taught, and the brain deposits new gray matter that literally pushes out the skull — self-improvement you could measure with calipers. Parents brought children for readings, returned years later, and found the head had grown just as prescribed: to the Fowlers, concrete proof. The ideal male head measured twenty-three inches around, the female twenty-two — women started in a different place, but nothing said they couldn't climb. And in 1843's Hereditary Descent, Orson made an argument radical for his century: that race mixing was a positive good for humanity.•       Second Only to Barnum. For three decades the Fowlers' Phrenological Cabinet at Clinton Hall — free of charge, unlike the American Museum kitty-corner across the street — was the second most visited tourist attraction in New York City. Visitors could hold a murderer's skull and feel for themselves why he killed, or trace the bumps of statesmen and writers. The empire was literal: the global skull trade of the era, from Samuel Morton's Crania Americana to skulls pilfered from native burial mounds, stocked the shelves. The Fowlers were millionaires, not billionaires — and Orson spent his share on a sixty-room octagon mansion, flagship of the 500-odd octagon houses he inspired across America.•       Twain's Two Visits — and the Birth of “Pseudoscience.” Oliver Wendell Holmes Sr. said reading a brain through a skull was like reading the inside of a safe by feeling the knob — and coined the word “pseudoscience” specifically for the phrenologists. Mark Twain ran the experiment: visiting Lorenzo Fowler's London depot incognito, he was told his organ of mirthfulness was a divot; three months later, business card presented, it was off the charts. Stob still insists on calling phrenology a science — because that is how its era understood it, because it was more accurate than much of the competition, and because one of the fathers of American neurology emerged from the Fowlers' own circle.•       We Are the Phrenologists Now. What killed phrenology was the Civil War: three decades of promising heaven on earth ran skull first into carts of actual skulls, and the utopia of self-improvement died on the battlefield. But the impulse never did. Phrenology, Stob argues, was self-help before the word existed — and its descendants fill the airport bookstore: astrology, Myers-Briggs, the Enneagram, the genetic ancestry kit, all of them, in his words, scientifically garbage yet enormously significant in people's lives. The uncharitable reading of the past is a trap. In two hundred years, Stob warns, they will look back at our sciences of the self exactly the way we look at the Fowlers. About the Guest Paul Stob is Director of the Program in American Studies at Vanderbilt University, where he also teaches in the Department of Communication Studies and the Program in the Communication of Science and Technology. His research focuses on nineteenth-century American intellectual culture — religion, democracy, populism, and social movements. He is co-author, with Stephen Lucas, of The Art of Public Speaking, now in its fourteenth edition. His first trade book is Empire of Skulls: Phrenology, the Fowler Family, and a New Nation's Quest to Unlock the Secrets of the Mind (Counterpoint, April 14, 2026). References: •       Empire of Skulls: Phrenology, the Fowler Family, and a New Nation's Quest to Unlock the Secrets of the Mind by Paul Stob (Counterpoint, April 2026). Jennifer Wright in The New York Times Book Review: “A thoroughly researched and intriguing work.”•       The Gospel According to Hobby Lobby by Michael Blanding — the recent Keen On episode on the Greens, this show's previous installment of ...

“There is the burden of being homeless and the burden of being judged for it.” — Saumya Roy on poverty in America How does the world look at America in the MAGA age? This is our third conversation drawn from How We See It, a collection of essays about America from the excellent new publication The Dial. In the first, The Dial's Paris-based editor Madeleine Schwartz offered a very French version about the oddities of Trump's America. In the second, the Turkish novelist and commentator Kaya Genç gave us his view from Istanbul. Today, we have a take on America from the Indian-born Saumya Roy, Al Jazeera's San Francisco correspondent and the author of Castaway Mountain, a book about the wastepickers of her hometown Mumbai. Saumya Roy's inside-out America is the one glimpsed from the back of a San Francisco cab, whose Indian driver told her he'd walked here from Mumbai. In her Dial essay, Roy compares the poverty of her hometown, Mumbai — the subject of Castaway Mountain — with the homelessness outside that San Francisco cab. The comparison isn't quite what you'd expect. Mumbai's poverty is vaster and more dehumanizing — a hundred thousand street people against San Francisco's eight thousand. But in Mumbai Roy finds a social kind of poverty, whereas in San Francisco it's atomized and isolating. In the land of personal responsibility, she reports, there's a double burden of being on the street: being homeless, and being judged for it. Some of the street people Roy meets even shower at a gym each Christmas so their families won't know their predicament. And yet Roy still recognizes the American dream. She reports that it often burns brighter in a Mumbai slum — where a young gig worker told her he wants to be “the Elon Musk of India” — than it does in America itself. That dream can be real, she says, just as it can be cracked. From the back of her San Francisco cab, Saumya Roy sees both Americas. Five Takeaways •       “I Walked from Mumbai to the US.” A cab driver's five-word answer contains the whole story. In the popular imagination, Indian America is the America of tech CEOs and startup founders; beneath it are millions — many undocumented — who chased the same dream, work small jobs, and were left behind by the wave. San Francisco, Roy observes, is a boom and bust town — dot-com, social media, now AI — and the American dream is a wave: catch it and you make an amazing life; miss it and you may end up sleeping in the subway car of the world's richest city. The dream, she says, can be fulfilled — and the dream can be cracked.•       The Double Burden. Mumbai's poverty is vaster and more dehumanizing than anything in America — children dying of tuberculosis in their teens, perhaps 100,000 people on the street against San Francisco's eight thousand. But it is social: even at a distance you see cooking smells, cradles, families living together on the sidewalk. American homelessness struck Roy as profoundly isolated — everything owned in a shopping cart, riding the train aimlessly because no one is waiting anywhere. And the ideology of personal responsibility cuts both ways: if success is earned, failure must be deserved. Hence the double burden — being homeless, and being judged for it — and the people who shower at a gym each Christmas so their families won't learn where they live.•       What Is Growth For? The AI boom is minting $250 million research salaries and trillion-dollar IPOs that will change the face of San Francisco for decades — while polls show seventy to eighty percent of Americans fear losing their jobs to AI investment, and a single medical expense can capsize a family. Young Americans watch the markers of their parents' lives — a home, affordable gas, a job within a year of graduation — drift out of reach. Roy's question is the one policymakers keep dodging: what is growth really for, if it doesn't translate into a better quality of life for the people who need it most?•       The Mumbai Model. Roy's editor at The Dial asked why she wrote “homeless” for San Francisco but not for Mumbai — and the answer became the essay. In Roy's own lifetime, Mumbai has moved more than 100,000 people off its sidewalks and railway tracks: not by sweeps, evictions, and demonization, but by involving communities — especially women — and giving people confidence that the housing they moved to would be safe and secure. Meanwhile only ten to twelve percent of San Francisco's homeless report substance use or mental illness as the cause; eighty-eight percent are simply priced out, often working two or three jobs. As Roy puts it: they deserve a hug more than they deserve to be evicted.•       The Dream Burns Brighter Abroad. Reporting on unemployment in a Mumbai slum, Roy climbed a steep staircase to interview a young gig worker and asked him his dream. “I want to be the Elon Musk of India,” he said. The American dream, Roy suggests, now burns brighter in Mumbai and the Gulf than in America itself — where the darkness is emotional rather than economic, a mourning for the idea of America rather than its numbers. Neither MAGA nor doom-monger, Roy watches a country that leads the world in innovation while paying developers not to build wind farms, and concludes that what people everywhere are grappling for — left, right, and abroad — is a system that reflects the crises they actually live. About the Guest Saumya Roy is Al Jazeera's San Francisco-based correspondent, covering technology and the environment. A former Mumbai journalist who co-founded the microfinance nonprofit Vandana Foundation, she is the author of Castaway Mountain: Love and Loss Among the Wastepickers of Mumbai (Astra House, 2021), one of NPR's best books of the year. Her essay on Mumbai, San Francisco, and the American dream appears in How We See It: The World Looks at America in the Age of Trump (The New Press, June 2026), edited by Madeleine Schwartz. References: •       How We See It: The World Looks at America in the Age of Trump, edited by Madeleine Schwartz (The New Press, June 2026). Adam Shatz: “It is often foreigners who understand us best.”•       Castaway Mountain: Love and Loss Among the Wastepickers of Mumbai by Saumya Roy — her acclaimed account of the lives built on Mumbai's Deonar garbage mountain, an NPR best book of 2021.•       Behind the Beautiful Forevers by Katherine Boo — the Mumbai classic in whose tradition Roy's reporting stands.•       Madeleine Schwartz and The Dial — the volume's editor, whose own Keen On America conversation about the book preceded this one.•       Stephen Marche — the old friend of the show whose re...

“It's a realization of my individual self, not an alienation of it.” — Keith Teare on the book he wrote with AI in a week Welcome to episode 2984 of the show. A week is certainly an age in AI time. Since last week's “Who Owns Intelligence” show, That Was The Week publisher Keith Teare has used AI to write an entire book entitled, surprise surprise, Who Owns Intelligence. No wonder, as Keith's editorial this week puts it, AI has its enemies. These enemies, Keith insists — riffing off Karl Popper's The Open Society and Its Enemies — are mostly “good people.” They are the authors, workers, and others caught in the headlights of epochal technological change. He claims to have seen the pattern before. When he opened the world's first Internet cafe in 1994, the BBC only wanted to ask him about online porn. But some enemies are less well meaning than others. Congress is considering a kill switch bill — let's call it the Kill Bill — which is backed by the frontier companies like Anthropic and OpenAI cynically seeking to set their current market dominance in stone. So might the answer be Chinese style “open source” AI as requested this week in an open letter by NVIDIA CEO Jensen Huang? Keith's answer is deliciously ironic. Denied walls of NVIDIA GPUs, Chinese labs learned to train cheaply by inference — distilling American frontier models through their own public interfaces. So Huang's support for open source AI might end up shooting NVIDIA in their most sensitive parts — their chips. And what about the state — can it protect all those “good people” from the oncoming AI locomotive of history? No. Not according to Keith, at least. State regulators like Lina Khan treat consumers as children, Keith (himself the parent of three boys) says. Besides, government simply can't keep up with the speed of technological change. So, for example, when OpenAI's models hacked Hugging Face in a lab test this week, the company caught, stopped, and reported it faster than any regulator could. As for inequality, the answer isn't nationalization but ownership on the model of Keith's Norway-style human wealth fund. For more, read his new book Who Owns Intelligence. We ended on an uncharacteristically French post-structuralist note. My interview of the week was Emily Eakin, author of The Frenchmen, her very personal history of French theorists like Michel Foucault and the two Jacques, Derrida & Lacan. It was Foucault, who — at the end of his 1966 book The Order of Things — predicted that man would be erased, AI style, like a face drawn in sand at the edge of the sea. But Keith isn't in this bleak Foucaultian camp. His book, written with AI in under a week, he says, is a realization of his individual self, not an alienation from it. The end or beginning of man? Maybe I got it wrong earlier. Welcome to episode 1984 of the show. Five Takeaways •       A Book in a Week. Inspired by last week's conversation, Keith used AI to write Who Owns Intelligence in seven days — the case for a “human wealth fund” seeded by the AI companies' own stock, global on day one and non-governmental, with Norway and Alaska as partial precedents. AI, he insists, is a tool, not an author: “AI would never have been able to start, never mind finish a book without me.” The detection farce cuts his way — Substack's new AI detector rated his 100% human editorial as 100% AI, and universities are quietly canceling their AI-detection contracts because the tools simply don't work.•       The Kill Bill and the Ladder-Kickers. Congress is considering a bill that would let government switch AI off — and, paradoxically, the AI companies are in favor. Keith's reading: regulation is a competitive strategy. Dario Amodei — “he's an entrepreneur, he's devious, he strategizes” — is the most sincere in wanting rules that would lock out open source competition — and Anthropic's $1.5 billion book settlement this week suggests the moat is expensive to maintain; Sam Altman zigzags; Musk, in this context at least, is one of the good guys. The genuine enemies of AI, meanwhile, are mostly good people: authors and workers frightened by the scale of change, just as the BBC in 1994 could only ask the founder of the world's first Internet cafe about porn and addiction.•       Why the Good Open Source AI Is Chinese. The week's uncomfortable question: where is the American open source AI? Keith's answer is structural. Denied walls of NVIDIA GPUs by export controls, Chinese labs were forced to train cheaply by inference — asking American frontier models millions of questions through public interfaces and learning from the answers. The result: world-class open models built, in effect, on distilled Anthropic and OpenAI. NVIDIA's much-signed open letter supporting open source, Keith notes, translates simply: more customers.•       The State Can't Keep Up. Lina Khan's consumer protection, in Keith's telling, is parental — treating consumers as children — and government-owned AI would be obsolete within three months of purchase. The counter-example happened this week: when OpenAI's de-railed models hacked Hugging Face in a lab test, the company caught, stopped, and reported it faster than any regulator could. The companies are the right point of control, held to a high standard. Matthew Yglesias adds nuance on the data center backlash — local micro-politics is not the same thing as the statewide bans coming almost entirely from Democratic states — and the American university, still metering intelligence at $80,000 a year, looks to Keith like a business model past its sell-by date.•       The End of Man — or the Beginning? Andrew's interview of the week was Emily Eakin on the Frenchmen — and Foucault's 1966 prophecy that man would be erased like a face drawn in sand at the edge of the sea, a prediction Eakin thinks the AI age is realizing. Keith takes the opposite view: the postmodernists grasped the rise of the individual (consider the Pantone color system) but gave him no society to live in. AI, far from erasing the individual, lets him realize himself — the week-old book is “a realization of my individual self, not an alienation of it.” Could Popper have written The Open Society in an hour? Before the car, nobody drove Manchester to London in two and a half hours either. About Keith Teare Keith Teare is Andrew's weekly co-host and the publisher of the That Was The Week tech newsletter. A four-decade veteran of the technology industry, he opened Cyberia — the world's first Internet cafe — in London in 1994, co-founded Easynet and TechCrunch, and is today the founder and CEO of SignalRank Corporation in Palo Alto. His latest — unpublished, so far — book is Who Owns Intelligence, written with AI in a week. References: •       “AI and Its Enemies: Who Needs a Kill Switch?” — Keith's editorial in this week's That Was The Week.•       

What has made this moment feel different is not the anxiety about incivility, which has always been there, but rather the performance of it. It's relentless.” — Molly Brady on incivility in the age of the smartphone Whatever happened to the American front porch? Builders killed it to save money, says the Harvard law professor Molly Brady — and with this death went one of the key stages on which Americans have practiced the art of being neighbors over the last 250 years. Brady is a contributor to America Unfinished: 250 Years of Law and Governance, a new volume of 62 essays from the Harvard Law School faculty edited by Alexandra Natapoff. Brady's subject is the land, real-estate and local government law determining neighborliness. Thus her interest in front porches. Brady grew up in Utica, New York — on the old Erie Canal — a Rust Belt town whose fracking fights, abandoned housing, and urban renewal steered her toward property law. Utica is also, despite its red politics, a place well versed in the art of neighborliness — with the town warmly welcoming recent Bosnian and Iraqi refugees. Incivility isn't new, Brady says. What's changed, she argues, is its performative virality. With a phone in every pocket, we can now watch our fellow “citizens” behaving badly. Meanwhile the physical infrastructure of community — the front porches and corner stores — has been zoned, sprawled, and value-engineered away. Analogue porches have been replaced by digital chatrooms. Brady's remedy is unfashionably local. On Zoom or in person, she advises, show up at your local planning meetings. Brady even requires her Harvard students to attend at least one local meeting so as to demystify the real work of governance. The republic, as Ben Franklin so famously warned, is ours if we can keep it. Keeping it, Molly Brady suggests, may require in-person attendance on a Wednesday night at your local planning commission. And it might also require hanging out on your porch. If the builders ever give them back to us. Five Takeaways •       The Performance of Incivility. Americans have always fretted about incivility — the republic itself was born out of Europe's religious civil wars. What has changed, Brady argues, is technology. When difference was mediated through traditional publishers, you had to grapple with the people in your physical world: the workplace, the water cooler, the town meeting. Now everyone carries a phone on which fellow citizens can be found behaving horribly at any given moment. It is not the presence of incivility that makes this moment feel different — it is the relentless performance of it.•       The Death of the Porch. Brady writes in the tradition of Robert Putnam's Bowling Alone, updated for the post-smartphone age: suburbanization, the loss of third places, remote work — and a thousand micro-choices in property law that removed the physical alternatives to online life. Builders dropped the front porch to save money; developers in the South and West build almost nothing outside homeowners associations, so there is no meaningful market choice. People are human — they yearn for connection — but in the absence of physical competition, technological community wins by default.•       Tocqueville's Scalability Problem. What Tocqueville admired in New England — every citizen (nominally) arguing policy with neighbors at the town meeting — may never have been scalable to a continental republic, a question America has been grappling with since the Louisiana Purchase. But the local still scrambles our politics in useful ways: party preference, as the scholar David Schleicher observes, tells you nothing about road paving. The darker local truth is Bill Fischel's homevoter hypothesis — homeowners dominate participation and vote to maximize home values, which has helped produce the national affordability crisis.•       Glimmers: Zoom, Newton, and Showing Up. The shift to Zoom planning meetings completely changed the demographics of who participates in land use decisions — young parents cannot spend Wednesday from seven to midnight debating a corner store. Newton has produced genuinely pro-housing policies; Cambridge ran a charter commission that drew in residents of every kind; groups like Abundant Homes Massachusetts organize contingents to make sure meetings are not left to the usual voices. Brady requires her students to attend at least one local meeting. The lesson: do not think this is for someone else.•       2076: Best Case, Worst Case. Asked to imagine America's 300th birthday, Brady hopes for less polarization and demonization, and for a real confrontation of the housing and environmental crises — collective work that might itself rebuild the habit of cooperation. The worst case runs through Margaret Atwood and civil war scenarios to environmental degradation and lives lost to our incapacity to work together. The warning signs are already banal: middle-aged men now pay consultants to teach them how to make friends. The skills have atrophied — and local participation, Brady suggests, is the gym where a republic gets them back. About the Guest Molly Brady is a professor of law at Harvard Law School, where she teaches property, land use, and local government law. Raised in Utica, New York, she is a graduate of Harvard College and Yale Law School, and her scholarship on the history of American property law has won wide recognition, as has her teaching. She lives in Belmont, Massachusetts, and is a contributor to America Unfinished: 250 Years of Law and Governance, edited by Alexandra Natapoff and Guy-Uriel E. Charles (MIT Press, July 2026). References: •       America Unfinished: 250 Years of Law and Governance, edited by Alexandra Natapoff and Guy-Uriel E. Charles (MIT Press, July 2026). Bryan Stevenson: “A valuable contribution to understanding America at a critical moment.”•       Bowling Alone by Robert Putnam — the 2000 classic on America's vanishing social capital, written, Brady notes, before the smartphone made things worse. Putnam is an old friend of this show.•       Democracy in America by Alexis de Tocqueville — the towering account of New England civic virtue that frames the episode's scalability question.•       Shade by Sam Bloch — the new book on the politics of shade that taught Brady about the money-saving death of the American front porch.•       Bill Fischel's “homevoter hypothesis” — the Dartmouth economist's account of why homeowner-dominated local politics maximizes home values and starves housing supply.•       Alexandra Natapoff — the volume's co-editor, whose own Keen On America conver...

“It's like asking turkeys to vote for Christmas.” — Ricardo Semler on why bosses won't let their workers vote on them Ricardo Semler might be the most anti-boss boss in the history of corporate bosses. Thrown into his Austrian immigrant father's São Paulo manufacturing firm at seventeen, the young Brazilian ripped up the rulebook — no dress codes, no time clocks, a ten-page cartoon manual instead of HR — and grew the company from 110 employees to more than 5,000. In the mid-Eighties he was already inventing hybrid work, shipping Telex machines to his workers' homes. One of them even squeezed one of these 150-pound machines into his bathroom. Now, in his upcoming e-book The End of the Boss, the author of the iconoclastic autobiography Maverick argues that the corporate pyramid — an inheritance, he says, from West Point via the railroads — is as dead as a cuckoo bird (as the Swiss would say). Nothing good has been done with it since World War Two. Not in Korea, Vietnam, Afghanistan, his native Brazil, and certainly not in corporate America where Elon Musk's current pay package equals the wages of all his employees for the next five years. Semler's alternative is disarmingly simple: groups of ten who validate their leader every six months. Fail the vote and you're not fired — you go back to being one of the nine. His Netherlands-based consultancy has brought versions of the idea to 208 companies, including the giant Dutch bank ABN AMRO, which agreed to do away with 399 branch managers. So why don't more bosses follow? Because, says Semler, asking executives to be elected from below is like asking turkeys to vote for Christmas. Even the self-styled “fearless” Elon Musk would be terrified to end up as the roasted centerpiece of the Xmas table. That same maverick idea (his first ex-wife joked he's only ever had one) runs through everything Semler has ever proposed — from the rotating district presidents of São Paulo, to the untethered MBA whose cohorts hire their own professors, to the schools that grade Call of Duty and map it to the curriculum. Switzerland, he points out, has been governed by seven rotating nobodies since the fourteenth century. No, The Third Man's Harry Lime was wrong. Rather than the cuckoo clock, it's this anti-boss invention which explains Switzerland's five hundred years of democracy and peace. Five Takeaways •       The Pyramid Came from West Point — and It's Dead. The corporate hierarchy, Semler argues, is a military inheritance that reached business from West Point via the railroads — and nothing good has been done with it since World War Two, from Korea to Vietnam to Afghanistan. The numbers agree: the average company's lifespan on the stock market has collapsed from 61 years to 21, which makes the classical pyramid, not self-management, the biggest gamble of all. Jack Welch's GE is a shadow because he prepared it for nothing except Jack Welch. And when one Alexander Wang is valued like 20,000 engineers, or a CEO's package equals five years of everyone's wages, something structural is wrong.•       Turkeys Voting for Christmas. Semler's system is cells of ten that choose or validate their leader by anonymous survey every six months. Fail the vote and you aren't fired — you return to being one of the nine. His consultancy has brought the idea to 208 companies, including ABN AMRO, which agreed to eliminate 399 branch managers. The reason it doesn't spread is not that it doesn't work; it's that nobody at the top wants it — turkeys don't vote for Christmas, and Bezos, Musk, and Zuckerberg would be terrified of their employees deciding whether they keep their jobs. His model is Switzerland: seven rotating councilors nobody can name, working out fine since the fourteenth century. The alternative ends, sooner or later, in Kim Jong Un.•       Cycles, Not Failures. “Until death do us part,” Semler says, is about the silliest question anybody could ask. His own eighteen-year marriage with three children wasn't a failure — it was a cycle that ended, ten beautiful years out of eleven. Children born today will live to 100 or 110, with time for three full careers and still a retirement, so asking a seventeen-year-old what they want to be for the rest of their life is the wrong question. His daily metric is simpler: was today a valid day — like getting your parking ticket validated — or a dues day? When the dues days outnumber the valid ones week after week, the marriage or the job is already finished, whether you admit it or not.•       The Untethered MBA. Semler taught MBAs at MIT and spent four years at Harvard Law School, so he knows exactly what he's calling outmoded, outdated, and obsolete. His replacement: cohorts of ten who work through a dashboard curriculum at their own pace, study the case of the day rather than decade-old case studies — is SpaceX worth a trillion dollars, or nothing? — and spend credits to summon former CFOs or Stanford professors on demand. The same logic runs his schools, which grade TikTok and Call of Duty and map them to the curriculum. The smartphone panic, he says, is mostly nostalgia: what the screens are ruining is your ability to memorize the periodic table.•       AI Is Electricity — and He's Losing the Argument. AI, Semler says, is irrelevant the way electricity is irrelevant: a tide rising for every boat, pointless to oppose and impossible to live without. He runs everything through four LLMs — “there's nothing left of slop or hallucination at the end of that” — and confesses that when he tells his AI to push back, he now has trouble keeping up intellectually, which wasn't true a year ago. His hope is that we don't become “domesticated pets” over the next fifteen years. The deeper obstacle to everything, though, remains human: the cattle aspect of fear. There is no Trump and no Putin, he says — there is thirty percent of the population willing to support them, and one person who understands what populism can do. About the Guest Ricardo Semler is the chairman and majority owner of Semco Partners, the São Paulo company he took over from his father at 21 and transformed into the world's most famous experiment in industrial democracy. His book Maverick: The Success Story Behind the World's Most Unusual Workplace (1993) was an international bestseller published in sixteen languages; The Seven-Day Weekend followed in 2003. He is the founder of the Lumiar schools and the Ralston Semler Foundation, has taught at MIT's Sloan School and Harvard Law School, and his TED talks have been viewed millions of times. His new e-book is The End of the Boss (endoftheboss.org, 2026). References: •       The End of the Boss by Ricardo Semler (2026) — the e-book, and its “Round Pyramid” alternative: self-managing cells of ten with leaders validated from below.•       Maverick: The Success Story Behind the World's Most Unusual Workplace by Ricardo Semler — the million-copy classic whose Brazilian predecessor, Turning the Tables, was rejec...

After more than a decade of Viktor Orban's rule, Hungary has entered a new political chapter. In this episode, Andrew Keen speaks with cultural anthropologist Marc Loustau about how Orban built an illiberal state, why his political project ultimately faltered, and what Hungary's experience can teach democracies around the world about resisting authoritarianism. From the role of the European Union to the importance of broad democratic coalitions, this conversation explores both the vulnerabilities and resilience of democratic institutions.

“I could not get under oath and swear that I know exactly how Kennedy died in Dallas.” — Ben Barnes, who helped advance JFK's fatal Texas tripIn Texas, there's nothing in the middle of the road, Jim Hightower famously quipped, but yellow stripes and dead armadillos. But Ben Barnes has spent seven decades disproving him. Elected as a Democratic moderate to the Texas legislature at 21, Speaker of the Texas House at 26, and lieutenant governor at 30, Barnes was LBJ's premier protégé and has known every president from Kennedy to Trump. Now 87, he has distilled all his centrist wisdom into Get It Done: Seven Decades of Lessons from a Political Legend.Get It Done is more than just a Texan story. Barnes spent six weeks advancing JFK's fatal 1963 Dallas trip and breakfasted with the president in Fort Worth on the morning of the assassination. He confesses that the Warren Commission “did not get it entirely correct” and notes that the experienced hunter John Connally, who rode in the Presidential limo, always insisted there were four shots, not three.Then there's the equally historic scene at the White House on the day LBJ signed the 1965 Voting Rights Act. Pen in hand, Johnson looked a dozen young Southern Democrats — Barnes among them — straight in the eye and told them he'd just signed away Dixie. “What I'm doing today is probably going to turn the South Republican for thirty or forty years,” LBJ confessed with astonishing prescience.The dirty trickster Richard Nixon, meanwhile, ended Barnes' electoral career. You can hear it on the tapes — Nixon ordering his attorney general, John Mitchell, to “get something on Barnes” before the Texas Democrat got to be governor. Years later, fresh from prison, Mitchell invited Barnes to lunch, apologized over a bowl of spaghetti, then dropped dead on a Washington sidewalk three months later.Barnes forgave Mitchell. He is less forgiving of the current administration, which he says is hammering the final nail into the coffin of LBJ's Voting Rights Act. In the recent Texas Senate runoffs, only seven percent of voters showed up. Seven. Barnes remembers, aged three, watching pickup trucks packed with young men rolling toward the recruiting stations the morning after Pearl Harbor. That generation died for the country. This one, the very alive Texan armadillo quipped, could at least vote to protect American democracy.Five Takeaways•       Four Shots, Not Three — But No Conspiracy. Barnes advanced JFK's Texas trip and was at the Fort Worth breakfast on the morning of the assassination. The Warren Commission, he believes, did not get it entirely correct: Connally, a hunter, swore the single-bullet ricochet was a physical impossibility and always counted four shots. Yet Barnes dismantles the grand-plot theories with logistics — Oswald started at the Book Depository thirty days before a motorcade route that wasn't fixed until six days prior, so he could not have known the president would pass. Ted Kennedy assured him before his death that nothing of importance remains unreleased in the files. Sixty years of phone calls from theorists later, Barnes will not swear under oath that he knows how Kennedy died.•       The Hostility Began in Los Angeles. The LBJ–Bobby Kennedy feud, in Barnes's telling, started at the 1960 convention, when Bobby went to Johnson's hotel room to talk him out of accepting the vice presidency his brother had just offered. The wound never healed — not through the vice presidency, not through the White House years with Bobby as attorney general. The counter-example was Ted Kennedy, who voted for the civil rights bills, kept a genuine affection for Johnson, and told Barnes three weeks before his own death what a great president LBJ had been.•       “This Will Turn the South Republican.” On the day he signed the Voting Rights Act, Johnson looked a dozen young Southern officeholders — Barnes among them — in the eye and told them the bill would probably turn the South Republican for thirty or forty years, and that they would have to work and tell the story over and over again. The prophecy held: Texas, Barnes says, is now the reddest state in America. And the administration's new voting legislation, he warns, would be the final nail in the coffin of Johnson's greatest achievement — making it harder for everyone to vote, and hardest of all for minorities.•       “Get Something on Barnes”: Nixon's Vendetta and Mitchell's Spaghetti. Furious that Barnes had helped Humphrey carry Texas in 1968 — and alarmed that he was outpolling every Democrat in the state — Nixon told John Mitchell to go to Texas and manufacture a scandal before Barnes reached the governor's mansion. It's on the tapes, and Barnes keeps copies. His electoral career ended. Years later, out of prison, Mitchell asked him to lunch, apologized over a bowl of spaghetti — “I had time to think in prison” — and died on a Washington sidewalk three months later. Barnes forgave him. The tactics, he notes, are back in fashion.•       Seven Percent. Trump, Barnes says, never prepared himself for the presidency — no student of history, bored by his intelligence briefings, and surrounded this term by a team without depth. American prestige is dwindling; NATO is non-negotiable; when America coughs, the world catches pneumonia. At home, racism has resurfaced and women's promotions to the military's top ranks are reportedly frozen. But his sharpest alarm is the emptiest statistic: seven percent turnout in the recent Texas Senate runoffs. The man who watched pickup trucks of volunteers roll toward the recruiting stations after Pearl Harbor asks only that this generation get involved — before the Republic runs out of birthdays.About the GuestBen Barnes was elected to the Texas legislature at 21, became the youngest Speaker of the Texas House at 26, and the youngest lieutenant governor in Texas history at 30. LBJ's “premier protégé,” he has spent the subsequent decades as a consultant, fundraiser, and Democratic power broker, helped establish the LBJ School of Public Affairs, and is founder and CEO of the Ben Barnes Group in Austin. His new book, written with David Ritz, is Get It Done: Seven Decades of Lessons from a Political Legend (Grand Central Publishing, July 14, 2026).References:•       Get It Done: Seven Decades of Lessons from a Political Legend by Ben Barnes with David Ritz (Grand Central Publishing, July 14, 2026). Doris Kearns Goodwin: “When a gifted storyteller has a great story to tell, the result is magic.”•       The Warren Commission — the 1964 report whose three-shot conclusion John Connally, a hunter who was wounded in the motorcade, never accepted.•       Jim Hightower — the Texas populist who actually coined “nothing in the middle of the road but yellow stripes and dead armadillos,” a line usually credited to Ann Richards....

“You didn't have to look someone in the eye while you extinguished their life, and you could do it from a distance.” — Mike McIntire on what the gun changedIs there an American way of violence? Earlier this month, the film critic David Thomson blamed gory Hollywood movies, like Coppola's Godfather, for glorifying it. Today's guest has an even more brutal answer. According to Mike McIntire, the three-time Pulitzer Prize-winning New York Times investigative journalist, it's the gun itself that can be blamed for the perpetual American plague of violence.Yes, the gun did it. In his new book Ricochet: Guns, Greed, and the American Way of Violence, McIntire observes that every developed country has violent movies, violent video games, and significant mental illness. But what no other country has are schoolchildren, grocery shoppers, and churchgoers massacred on a regular basis. Up to forty thousand Americans die from guns every year — half of them suicides — and yet we treat these uniquely dangerous machines as if they were iPhones.How did this catastrophe happen? McIntire's answer focuses on the law as much as the culture. English common law imposed a duty to retreat in the event of conflict. Then, amid the centennial jingoism of 1876, an Indiana court declared that “retreat” was not “the tendency of the American mind.” A “true man,” explained an Ohio court, doesn't fly from threats. Stand your ground was born — and with it, a legal redefinition of what it means to be an American.And then there's the NRA — founded in 1871, ironically, by a former New York Times correspondent as a marksmanship club, and radicalized a century later. Its greatest coup was reframing the Second Amendment from militia clause into individual right — a maneuver that Warren Burger, a Republican chief justice, called the “biggest fraud” ever perpetrated on the American people. And today even the NRA looks moderate compared to new online radical right-wing gun rights groups.McIntire, a gun owner himself, doesn't preach. Instead he describes his first murder scene as a young cop reporter — the dead man peacefully lying in the grass, one small round hole in the side of his head. Clean, efficient, clinical. Like an iPhone app. That's the American way of violence. The gun did it. And will continue to do so until America retreats from its deadly love affair with the firearm.Five Takeaways•       It's the Gun Itself. Every developed country has violent movies, violent video games, mental illness, and toxic social media. What none of them has, McIntire argues, is a repetitive, constant problem of schoolchildren, grocery shoppers, and churchgoers being massacred. Up to forty thousand Americans a year die from guns — half of them suicides — and firearms account for three-quarters or more of all homicides. Yet America treats these uniquely dangerous things as ordinary consumer goods, bought, sold, marketed, and carried around like an iPhone or a wallet. Whatever role Hollywood plays — and McIntire takes David Thomson's argument seriously — you have to start with the one thing that is actually different: the gun.•       A Daily Trickle of Bloodshed. When a plane crash kills two hundred people, there is a massive media and government response. When two hundred people die in scattered shootings across fifty states in the same period, there is a local news story, and then nothing. Gun violence in America has slipped into the category of acceptable losses — background noise. The conundrum for gun-safety advocates is how to sustain attention on a crisis that only becomes visible when the next Sandy Hook or Parkland arrives.•       No Duty to Retreat. English common law, imported into the colonies, required you to retreat from a public confrontation before resorting to lethal force. Amid the centennial fervor of 1876, American courts began overturning homicide convictions on new grounds: retreat, declared Indiana's Supreme Court, was not “the tendency of the American mind,” and a “true man,” added an Ohio court, need not fly from an aggressor. The repeating rifle helped make the old duty obsolete — you cannot outrun a bullet — and stand your ground became canon. Every week, somewhere in America, the defense still succeeds.•       “The Biggest Fraud”: Rewriting the Second Amendment. The founders' great fear was a standing army; the amendment preserved a well regulated militia — trained and disciplined, not unlimited. Beginning in the 1970s, the NRA underwrote sympathetic scholarship, law reviews, and court cases in a deliberate long game to recast the amendment as an individual right — moving guns from common law, where legislatures can regulate, into constitutional law, where they largely cannot. Warren Burger, the Republican former chief justice, called it the biggest fraud he had ever seen perpetrated on the American people. Now the Supreme Court's “common use” test — found nowhere in the Constitution — means a weapon popular enough may be unbannable, with AR-15 bans next on the docket.•       The Death Star Eclipsed. McIntire's cache of internal NRA documents traces the organization's path from post-Civil War marksmanship club — cofounded by a former New York Times correspondent — to radicalized lobbying juggernaut, complete with pro-gun Democrats like John Dingell on its board. Today it has been outflanked by no-compromise groups like the Firearms Policy Coalition, which at any given moment is pushing more lawsuits against state gun laws than the NRA. Guns remain the third rail — Beto O'Rourke said “hell yes” to taking away AR-15s and has not held office since. The irony in McIntire's prescription: gun-safety advocates should copy the NRA's own generation-long legal strategy.About the GuestMike McIntire is an investigative journalist at The New York Times and a member of three Pulitzer Prize-winning reporting teams, whose work has exposed everything from Russian election interference to the hidden financial incentives of policing. He is the author of Champions Way: Football, Florida, and the Lost Soul of College Sports. He lives in Ridgefield, Connecticut. His new book is Ricochet: Guns, Greed, and the American Way of Violence (One Signal/Atria, July 2026).References:•       Ricochet: Guns, Greed, and the American Way of Violence by Mike McIntire (One Signal/Atria, July 2026). Jane Mayer: “McIntire is both a superb reporter and storyteller.”•       A Sudden Flicker of Light: A Revisionist History of Movies by David Thomson — the recent Keen On guest whose argument about Hollywood and American violence opens the conversation.•       The American Way of Death by Jessica Mitford — the classic anatomy of the American funeral business that lends this episode its central question.

“Theory said, it doesn't matter what you've read. It's how you read.” — Emily Eakin on the seduction of the FrenchmenWhen I was a graduate student at Berkeley in the Eighties, there was a bewildering rage for Frenchmen. Foucault in history, Derrida in literature, Althusser in political philosophy, Lacan in psychology. Not that anybody could quite explain what any of them meant — which only made their ideas even more compelling. It was the seduction of the American mind, especially its elite campus version. Innocent times with forty years of hindsight.Emily Eakin caught this Eighties fever for French theory at Harvard. Now an editor at the New York Times Book Review, Eakin has written The Frenchmen, or My Life in Theory, which is both a confessional of her own seduction and a serious piece of intellectual history.A self-described farm girl from Indiana — albeit one whose Francophile parents once left her waiting at a Paris nursery school because a Lévi-Strauss lecture went overtime — she fell for theory as the intellectual equivalent of a little black dress. It looked expensive, even off the rack, she confesses. For a middle-class Midwesterner, it seemed like a passport to Left-Bank sophistication. All you needed was the jargon, the black clothes and, in Eakin's case, the opera gloves.But her Frenchmen, Eakin warns, turned out to be a slippery bunch. Lacan was so difficult that professors cancelled their own classes rather than teach him. Althusser murdered his wife. Foucault's histories were as much fiction as fact. Not even Derrida took Derrida seriously. These were the men undoing the “master narratives” while an enthralled generation of cross-legged young feminists in their little black dresses took notes.And yet Eakin's Frenchmen may have the last laugh. Their theory of language — an impersonal system requiring no human at its center — presciently describes today's AI revolution. Foucault predicted that “man” would be erased like a face drawn in sand on the beach. Forty years on, that tide may be engulfing us all.Five Takeaways•       The Little Black Dress of the Mind. Eakin grew up in a family of Francophiles — one of her earliest memories is her mother arriving late to the Paris maternelle because Claude Lévi-Strauss's lecture had run over — and arrived at Harvard as a middle-class kid from a middling Midwestern high school, painfully aware of the gaps in her education. Theory offered the shortcut: it didn't matter what you'd read, only how you read. The cliché about the little black dress is that it looks expensive even bought on sale off the rack at Macy's, and theory, Eakin says, was its intellectual equivalent. It was also, frankly, sexy — young professors in jeans lecturing on the masturbation of the comma in Henry James, as Lorrie Moore's barely-parodic parody had it, and students dressed in black. Eakin went as far as the opera gloves.•       System Replaces the Self. After the war, Sartre's existentialism made every accurate thought an authentic act of resistance — a heroic message for a France humiliated by four years of Nazi occupation. But the postwar world was not being changed by individual actors, and Lévi-Strauss dismissed the whole business in Tristes Tropiques as “shop girl metaphysics.” Around the time the Berlin Wall went up, Althusser routed Sartre at the École Normale, and a new philosophy took hold, obsessed with vast impersonal forces: not humans controlling events but a structure — with language at its center. The moment that fascinated Eakin is that sixties moment when system replaced the self.•       Difficult by Design — and Easy to Distort. A colleague of Eakin's at the Times was once assigned Lacan's lecture on The Purloined Letter; a few minutes into class, the professor cancelled it, admitting he didn't understand the text he had assigned. That is the level of difficulty in question. Underedited and self-indulgent, Eakin the editor concedes — but each Frenchman left behind one bold idea worth the struggle, like Lacan's mirror stage, in which identity is formed outside ourselves in an act of misrecognition. The difficulty carried a price: it made the work easy to parody, and conservative pundits handed the public a distorted picture. The Frenchmen never said truth doesn't exist, Eakin insists. Their message was to beware political claims masquerading as eternal truths.•       Slippery Politics, Awkward Pasts. Foucault, insecure about his thinning hair, shaved his head, ditched the suits, and by 1970 was in the streets with a megaphone defending prisoners, immigrants, and workers — and he was in San Francisco at the start of the AIDS catastrophe, which is reason to take his politics seriously. Derrida was temperamentally otherwise: nothing follows from deconstruction, as Stanley Fish put it, and the moment of silence his classmates held for Stalin at the École Normale was a bit much for him. The posthumous exposure of de Man's collaborationist journalism hastened theory's American demise. And there was the paradox Eakin only saw while writing the book: men undoing the master narratives, and a generation of feminists — herself included — enthralled to them. De Beauvoir was the indomitable exception, awarded second place in the agrégation by jurors who could barely decide between her and Sartre.•       The Frenchmen's Revenge: AI. When the chatbots got good, American linguistics went into a tailspin: Chomsky's account of language as a uniquely human, embodied endowment cannot explain a machine producing sophisticated sentences. The structuralists' theory — language as an impersonal system in which meaning derives from how words differ from one another — describes generative AI rather well, and scholars such as NYU's Leif Weatherby are now calling for a structuralist revival to understand it. De Man called language a machine; Foucault wrote of the proliferation of authorless discourse; Eakin's recent New York Times essay argues Foucault foresaw everything from AI to the deep state. The Frenchmen, she thinks, would be fascinated rather than appalled — and would remind us to be just as wary of AI's language as of anyone else's.About the GuestEmily Eakin is an editor at The New York Times Book Review. She has worked as a senior editor at The New Yorker, an ideas reporter for The New York Times, a fashion features writer at Vogue, and a deputy editor of Lingua Franca. Her features, essays, and reviews have appeared in The New Yorker, The New York Times Magazine, The New Republic, and The New York Review of Books. A Harvard graduate with graduate degrees from Columbia and the École Normale Supérieure in Paris, she lives in New York City. Her first book is The Frenchmen, or My Life in Theory (Penguin Press, July 2026).References:•       The Frenchmen, or My Life in Theory by Emily Eakin (Penguin Press, July 2...

We've done plenty of abstract shows on American Christian nationalism. But this one is about a single family: the Greens of Oklahoma City, owners of the Hobby Lobby retail empire, and probably the wealthiest Christian nationalist family you've never heard of. According to investigative writer Michael Blanding, the Greens have amassed a $14 billion fortune from selling glitter glue and popsicle sticks. In his new book The Gospel According to Hobby Lobby, Blanding reveals what he insists is this billionaire family's quest to craft a Christian nation. Hobby Lobby is an all-American story — especially in its ridiculous ironies. A fundamentalist fortune built on bead-buying hippy consumers. The business came out of the Sixties counterculture. That said, the Greens have built the closest thing to a Christian corporate behemoth. Hobby Lobby has no corporate debt, is closed on Sundays, pays above average wages, and has a founder, David, who still flies coach. And yet this is the same Trump-loving corporation that forced its warehouse laborers to work during COVID and denies them birth control coverage. And then there is the Museum of the Bible, blocks from the Capitol — God's base camp, as it's known — stocked with 40,000 shady artifacts including a $1.7 million Gilgamesh Dream Tablet, and forged Dead Sea Scrolls. Such are the absurdities of life in Christian MAGAland. Render unto Trump what is Trump's. Then deduct, forge or steal the rest. Five Takeaways •       The Most Influential Family You've Never Heard Of. Hobby Lobby is an $8 billion business with a thousand big-box stores, and the Greens are worth $14 billion — among the richest people in America — from what Blanding calls the perfect recession-proof business: when times are good, people buy crafts, and when times are bad, they make things instead of buying them. David Green saw the waste at the TG&Y department store chain in the sixties, started making picture frames in his garage, and — by his own account — owes the takeoff to the beatniks and hippies buying beads. The family credits God rather than themselves: chosen, anointed, and bearing no responsibility for the wealth. •       True Believers, Not Hypocrites. Whatever else the Greens are, Blanding insists, they are not hypocrites: they genuinely believe everyone is going to hell without Jesus, and they live accordingly. No corporate debt, wages well above the minimum, closed Sundays to honor the Lord, a founder who flies coach and lives modestly in Oklahoma. The record cuts both ways: during COVID, warehouse employees worked unmasked in hundred-degree heat after David Green's wife had a vision from God that the company must stay open. And the 2014 Supreme Court case over birth control coverage made Hobby Lobby a national flashpoint — half the country boycotts it, and the other half shops there precisely because of it. •       Seven Mountains and the Attack on Pluralism. The Greens work within the democratic system, Blanding concedes under Andrew's devil's advocacy — but they are associated with Seven Mountains dominionism, the crusade for evangelical control of government, law, entertainment, and the other commanding heights of American society. Steve Green, David's son, is on record that there is one true worldview, incompatible with all others, and that pluralism should not exist because the rules are laid out in the Bible. His Bible curriculum for public schools taught scripture as reliable historical truth. This isn't guilt by association, Blanding argues — it's what the family says in its own books and interviews. •       Trump as Cyrus. David Green came out against Trump in 2016 — an op-ed, a Fox News appearance, support for Marco Rubio — as a poor example of moral leadership. Then Trump became the nominee, the Supreme Court became the prize, and the family fell in line with the movement's theology of the imperfect vessel: Trump as Cyrus, the pagan Persian king who freed the Jews and delivered for the faithful without being one of them. To their credit, Blanding notes, the bet paid off — no president, including the professed believers, has pushed conservative Christian exceptionalism further through the courts and executive orders. •       God's Base Camp: The Museum of the Bible. Blocks from the Capitol sits the Greens' Museum of the Bible, stocked with some 40,000 cuneiform tablets, papyri, and Torah scrolls acquired in part to prove the Bible historically true — and acquired, it turned out, from shady dealers. The federal government seized the $1.7 million Gilgamesh Dream Tablet as looted from Iraq; the museum's Dead Sea Scrolls proved to be forgeries; and the acquisition machine doubled as a tax strategy, with artifacts bought cheap, reappraised high, and donated for deductions so large they sometimes paid for themselves. Radical Christian conservatives held their conferences there — one called it God's base camp. Ingenious, entirely legal, and, in Blanding's telling, entirely revealing. About the Guest Michael Blanding is a Boston-based investigative journalist whose work has appeared in The New York Times, WIRED, Slate, Smithsonian, and The Boston Globe Magazine. His previous books include The Map Thief, a New York Times bestseller; The Coke Machine; and In Shakespeare's Shadow, the subject of his last appearance on this show in 2022. His new book is The Gospel According to Hobby Lobby: Inside a Billionaire Family's Quest to Craft a Christian Nation (PublicAffairs, July 14, 2026). References: •       The Gospel According to Hobby Lobby: Inside a Billionaire Family's Quest to Craft a Christian Nation by Michael Blanding (PublicAffairs, July 14, 2026). Virginia Heffernan in The New York Times: “Blanding is at the height of his arts and crafts.” •       Burwell v. Hobby Lobby (2014) — the Supreme Court case in which the company successfully argued it need not provide insurance covering birth control, and the moment Hobby Lobby became a national flashpoint. •       The Museum of the Bible — the Greens' institution blocks from the Capitol, whose looted Gilgamesh Dream Tablet was seized by the federal government and whose Dead Sea Scrolls proved to be forged. •       Seven Mountains dominionism — the movement seeking evangelical Christian control of government, law, media, entertainment, and the other commanding heights of society. •       

“I want someone who has regrets. I want someone who's learned the hard way. I want someone who understands that life is made of those messy compromises.” — Joel Christensen on the Odysseus he hopes to see in Matt Damon Christopher Nolan's The Odyssey is out — the controversial movie of the year, much of the controversy raging before anyone had seen a frame. So, before either of us had seen the epic, I talked to the CUNY classicist Joel Christensen, author of the timely Why Odysseus? Survivor, Scoundrel, (Anti)hero. What, I asked Christensen, did he most dread about Hollywood's treatment of his beloved Odyssey? His answer: a hero too noble to be interesting. The Odysseus of the epic is a survivor, a scoundrel, an antihero — the master sergeant who does what needs to be done, from engineering the Trojan Horse to making sure Hector's infant son doesn't survive it. Christensen's worry about Matt Damon came down to one word: too likeable. What he wanted instead was a man with regrets — De Niro in Raging Bull rather than anybody noble. So did Christensen get the Odysseus he wanted? Below is his review, written after seeing the film when it came out. Postscript: Joel Christensen's Verdict on the Film Nolan's Odyssey is not Homer's Odyssey. This should be clear to anyone. Nolan faced an almost impossible task well: ancient audiences knew the story already. Modern audiences do not, so he created a ring structure with the beginning union of Penelope and Odysseus anticipating the reunion at the end, also introducing plot elements like the dog Argos and the pin by which Penelope will recognize Odysseus. The film is not Homer. Homer's power is poetry; the film's is image. Some of the images are striking: the scene when Circe turns his men into animals is the most arresting in the whole movie, showing everything that can be done with visceral imagery and a slight adaptation (Circe here is a survivor of sexual assault). The changes made to the plot such as omitting the Phaeacians, Nestor, Laertes, the bed and more are not as jarring as some of the general decisions. Calling “Zeus' Law” “do unto others…” makes an understandable translation to a Christian context, but it is somewhat nonsensical for Homer. Depicting a mutilated Helen is a strange decision that I am struggling with. What the movie gets right is making humans responsible for their own suffering. In a novel take on Odysseus as a traumatized warrior, the hero spends seven years with Calypso eating Lotus to forget the loss of his men. Damon, too likeable, regrets the trick of the Trojan Horse after witnessing the slaughter during the sack of Troy. We find out as well that the “sea people” from history, bringing an end to the “civilization” are actually the Greeks returning from the Trojan War and suffering for the transgressions they committed there. Is this ending an echo of Zeus' plan to end the race of heroes in the Trojan War? Is it an allegory for our civilizational collapse in the future thanks to technology, environmental catastrophe, and fascism? Any potential social critique dissipates with the movie's end. The traumatized veteran turns out to be merciful and kills only some of the suitors, showing many mercy. Then, guilty of violating “Zeus' Law”, Odysseus happily goes into exile with Penelope, leaving Telemachus to be king. There's no way to make Homer's Odyssey into a film and convey all its ambiguity and depth. That would be an unfair expectation. Nolan's film is a compelling spectacle and it makes me wonder more about how it reflects who we are as an audience. Do we need the hero to be ultimately good, even if he messed up? Are we so simple that we need to hear about Zeus' Law and the Sea People so repetitively? I fear that in this age where fiction and fact are so hard to disentangle, that we long for narratives that are just simpler. We don't get the Odyssey we want; we get the one we deserve. Five Takeaways •       A Complicated Man: The Translation Problem. Every word of Homer carries echoes no English can hold, and the fights over Nolan's dialogue replay the fights over translation. Emily Wilson detonated a controversy by rendering polytropos — poly, many; tropos, turn — as “a complicated man,” alluding at once to Odysseus's travels and the many forms of his character; Daniel Mendelsohn's “man of roundabout ways” does the work too, if you can stop thinking about rotaries. Even the objection to Tom Holland's Telemachus saying “dad” collapses on inspection: Telemachus uses the colloquial form in Homer. And the “authentic” dialect purists want was an artificial amalgam that no ancient Greek ever spoke. •       The Culture Wars Come for Homer. Nobody remembers a brouhaha over Wolfgang Petersen's Troy — a pretty bad movie, Christensen notes — but Nolan's Odyssey generates more controversy than a scholar can track daily. Lupita Nyong'o's Helen is attacked as inauthentic by one side and as cultural appropriation by the other; since 2015, classicists have watched the Western tradition weaponized by the alt-right while their own field argues about who owns it. Christensen's advice channels the epic itself: between Scylla and Charybdis, take Scylla. You'll lose six men. The alternative is losing the ship — and if the story doesn't persuade in three hours, nobody will remember the armor anyway. •       The Valence of Violence. Modern audiences are more accustomed to represented violence than any in history — you don't need Natural Born Killers when Twitter serves unverifiable clips from Gaza and Iran. The question Christensen brings to the film is what the violence is for. Uberto Pasolini's The Return gave Ralph Fiennes's Odysseus a steady, untroubled thump of arrows; the epic's own slaughter of the suitors, read closely, approaches Tarantino-adjacent parody. And the hardest tests are the atrocities the adaptations always cut: the mutilation of the goatherd Melanthius, and Telemachus hanging the enslaved women. Does the violence glorify the hero — or show what even the best of us are capable of? •       Keep Penelope Ambiguous. The great interpretive question of the Odyssey is when Penelope knows the beggar is her husband — the suitors, dead in the underworld, are convinced she was in on it all along. The epic grants her remarkable intelligence and agency, then reins it in: Agamemnon's ghost praises her by way of insulting all women, and she vanishes from the text. Christensen's advice to Nolan wouldn't be Margaret Atwood's Penelopiad, which centers the women's voices; it would be more screen time and total ambiguity — no access to her mind, a wife who matches her husband in wits and may even have outwitted him. Though based on Nolan's arc, he doubts we'll get a woman at the center. •       Survivor, Scoundrel, (Anti)hero. Christensen's worry about Matt Damon was simple: too likable. Odysseus is the master sergeant — the one who takes the hard orders, tricks Achilles into the war, engineers the Horse, and makes sure Hector's infant son doesn't survive to rebuild Troy. The ancient hero is neither good nor ...

In 1776 — that same year America declared its independence — Adam Smith published the equally revolutionary The Wealth of Nations, his founding explanation of national economic value. Two hundred and fifty years later, Tim O'Reilly argues in the free-market Economist that Elon Musk and his fellow tech barons are building a monarchical form of capitalism that the proto-democratic Smith would have hated. Musk, O'Reilly reports, believes that SpaceX will become “worth more than the rest of Earth”. The merchants are becoming princes, O'Reilly warns. And the rest of us are becoming peasants. Such is the road to serfdom in our AI age. So who should own the AI in our bewildering age of multi-trillion dollar start-ups like SpaceX, Anthropic and OpenAI? Or as That Was The Week publisher Keith Teare asks in his latest editorial, who should own the “intelligence” of our AI age? Keith uses a bottling plant as a metaphor to describe our dilemma. Since no single entity can own this intelligence — the sum total of our common experience — charging us for it would be like seizing the Earth's water supply and selling it back to us, Coca-Cola style, in plastic bottles. Except that the Hayekian Keith approves of the bottling process. Private companies, rather than governments, he argues, are most suited to doing this. For Keith, this dilemma is also an opportunity to redistribute the ownership of intelligence. He argues for a “Human Wealth Fund” into which every consequential AI company should put a slice of its equity. In the manner of Norway's sovereign wealth fund, this fund would be distributed to all citizens. Rather than Denmark, now we should become like Norway, a tiny homogenous nation with a cultural distaste for Muskian individual wealth. Not very realistic, I fear. On top of that, it's hard to imagine our tech princes collaborating on anything. Musk and Altman aren't on speaking terms while Altman and Amodei, who also loathe each other, are focused on their IPOs. Meanwhile, the Trump administration, which presumably would coordinate this fund, is pitching a $100,000-a-month fast feed of the president's posts. Keith's question, “who owns the intelligence”, is the right one. But the answer won't come from trickle-down funds set-up by our tech princes. Such supposed munificence is about as likely as America becoming Norway. Read the fine print of any “Human Wealth Fund” set up by Sam Altman and Elon Musk. As we should know all too well by now, when a “revolutionary” Silicon Valley gives stuff away, it turns out to be exorbitantly expensive. Free plastic bottles of intelligence, anyone? Five Takeaways •       Intelligence, Not AI. The week's framing shift: the word AI is too small, because AI is merely the tool for harvesting and delivering the thing itself — intelligence, the sum total of our common human experience. Keith argues the renaming is not semantic but political: the moment intelligence sits at the center of the discussion, everyone's opinion has to be shaped by what it actually is, and the idea that any single entity could own it starts to look as bizarre as owning the world's water supply. Andrew's rejoinder: they're still just words — though he concedes intelligence is the better one. •       Bottled Intelligence Is Good — The Question Is Who Benefits. Keith refuses the critic's role: bottling intelligence, like Google's bottling of the world's words into search, is a good thing, because only massively capitalized private companies can innovate at that scale — and between private entities and governments as owners of intelligence, he'll take the companies every time. What's wrong is the distribution of the benefits. Even insiders are complaining: Alex Karp is publicly angry at OpenAI and Anthropic's pricing, while China's Kimi K3 — released the day of recording and, Keith claims, better than Claude Fable — signals that very good models are about to get very cheap. •       Capitalism Adam Smith Would Hate. Tim O'Reilly argues in The Economist that Musk and his type are building a capitalism Smith would despise — founders as monarchs, a point Henry Farrell reinforces with a slide from Peter Thiel's startup class placing the king of a monarchy and the founder of a startup side by side. Keith's response is characteristically unsentimental: Smith would have hated everything since the Federal Reserve, and the founder-king structure — Larry and Sergey's voting shares, Zuckerberg's special rights, corporations bigger than countries with user bases bigger than China — is simply the stage of capitalism we're at. The question is whether there's a path from here to somewhere better. •       The Human Wealth Fund. Keith's path comes in two versions: government-down, a sovereign wealth fund holding AI equity for every citizen; or company-up, the AI companies voluntarily endowing a global fund — and it only takes one to move first, because everyone else would have to react. His proxy is Norway, where every citizen benefits from ownership — not payouts, ownership — in the oil fund; AI revenues, unlike Norwegian oil, could eventually drive most of a doubled global GDP. His critique of the Brynjolfsson economists' much-signed statement is that “must act now” is vacuous: he'd have added a point four naming the actual mechanism. •       The Bet. Andrew's counter-case: Musk and Altman loathe each other, the mob hates AI so thoroughly that no pro-AI politician can survive, the states from Newsom's California to Florida are embracing nothing, New York just enacted the first data center moratorium, and the founders — eyes on their IPOs — are in the pockets of the banks. Hence the wager: 5% of the Teare Wealth Fund says no Human Wealth Fund this year, and none in the twenties. Keith declined the bet, on principle: he's an advocate, and only through advocacy does public opinion change. As Andrew put it: keep fighting the good fight — maybe one of the crazy ideas will stick. About the Guest Keith Teare is the founder and editor of the That Was The Week tech newsletter, and Andrew's weekly co-host. A British-born Silicon Valley entrepreneur and investor, he was a co-founder of TechCrunch and runs the Palo Alto–based venture firm SignalRank. He and Andrew have been arguing about technology — productively — every week for years. References: •       That Was The Week — Keith's newsletter; this week's editorial argues that the word AI is too small, and that the central question of the age is who owns intelligence. •       Tim O'Reilly in The Economist — on Elon Musk building a form of capitalism that Adam Smith would hate, quoting Musk's claim that SpaceX will become worth more than the rest of the Earth. •       Henry Farrell — the big tech critic's companion piece, featuring the slide from Peter Thiel's startup class that plac...

“We have a Justice Department which is now 100% the political pawn of the president,” warns Brookings senior fellow Jonathan Rauch. “He points, and they shoot.” Point and shoot. Like an old Kodak camera. Not exactly assuring words, you might think, from a man who begins our conversation looking back at the first six months of 2026 by announcing that he's significantly less alarmed than he was a year ago. Yes, Rauch acknowledges, Trump's approval ratings have sunk, the courts have pushed back, Elon Musk's DOGE rampage has petered out. And yet the pointing and the shooting goes on. Rauch, who only months ago diagnosed eighteen “distinct and unmistakable signs” of an American fascism in a much touted Atlantic piece, now admits he may never crack the Trumpian code. Every time you nail it to the wall, he says, it morphs, creeps or sails away. Like an Iranian gunboat in Hormuz. Slippery stuff for the liberal Brookings analyst. Fascism one month, McKinley-style imperialism the next, then Gilded Age plutocracy — although without those ontologically undeniable Carnegie libraries. Meanwhile, America's 250th birthday party fizzled into what Rauch calls a “damp squib,” its reflecting pool turning an opaque green rather than a clarifying blue. A muddy madness in DC. Still, amidst all the opacity, Rauch remains a defiantly optimistic liberal. In contrast with yesterday's guest, the reality hallucinating Turi Munthe, Rauch believes not only that there is an ontological reality, but that it's good. Frank Fukuyama was right, Rauch insists. Liberalism is not only the only political system that creates wealth, produces knowledge and settles disputes, but also establishes an undeniable reality. Liberals just need to relearn how to clearly tell its story. Perhaps. Though storytelling is certainly simpler when nobody is waving a gun at you. Five Takeaways •       Less Alarmed, Still Scared. Rauch opens with the good news: he is significantly less alarmed than he was a year ago, when the administration was running rampage, putting agencies out of business and demanding Greenland. Approval ratings have dropped, so Trump has less political space; the courts have pushed back, so he has less judicial space; Stephen Miller has vanished from view. And then comes the caveat that gives the episode its title: the Justice Department is now 100% the political pawn of the president — he points, and they shoot — and Trump has shown that as his ratings fall, he becomes more willing, not less, to use those tools. •       I May Never Crack the Code. Only months ago, Rauch diagnosed eighteen distinct and unmistakable signs of a modern American reinvention of fascism in The Atlantic. He doesn't regret the essay — but he has gone back to being confused. The Trump phenomenon is slippery: every time you nail it to the wall, it morphs, creeps or slides away. Fascism one month, McKinley-style imperialism in Venezuela the next, an Iran war with no rationale at all. Trump is such an improviser, and so disorganized, that Rauch concedes there is an element of randomness he may never decode — though he accepts Andrew's suggestion that attention is now the coin of the political realm. •       Not the Gilded Age — No Carnegie Libraries. The new inequality, Rauch argues, is different in kind: a class of people almost superhuman in the wealth they control, and strangely narcissistic and nihilistic toward the broader society. The Gilded Age tycoons did some bad things, but they also built — Carnegie's libraries, Mellon's National Gallery, Rockefeller's University of Chicago, Stanford's university. This group builds rockets and sounds, in the case of Marc Andreessen, like a parody of an Ayn Rand novel — or, as Andrew corrects him, not a parody at all: they simply repeat what they've read. Even so, Rauch is not sorry to see politics reacting to a world where Musk can casually drop $300 million into a presidential race. •       The Gloves-Off Court and the Accelerating Presidency. The Supreme Court term brought the clearest statement yet of the conservative agenda: Humphrey's Executor overturned after eighty years, making it far easier for presidents to fire agency heads at will; what remained of the Voting Rights Act effectively gutted; birthright citizenship surviving by a shockingly narrow margin. The imperial presidency is not new, Rauch notes — what's new is the speed. A president can now simply refuse to run a congressionally mandated agency, and the Senate, forty quietly nixed nominations notwithstanding, remains lacking in spine. The Todd Blanche nomination, he says, is the next test of whether any line exists at all. •       Fukuyama Was Right — and Liberals Should Say So. Rauch sees a moral vacuum and, for the first time, a craving to fill it: the pope's AI encyclical, multi-faith clergy bearing witness in Minnesota, the Episcopalians and Latter-day Saints finding their voices. His prescription for the second half of 2026 is a liberal one, in the nineteenth-century sense — science, markets, constitutions, rule of law. Fukuyama, widely misunderstood, was right: there is only one system that produces knowledge, peace, freedom, and wealth on a global scale, and it's ours. It needs fixing — he cheers the bipartisan housing bill Trump refused to sign — but liberals must relearn how to tell that story, and how to brag. About the Guest Jonathan Rauch is a senior fellow in Governance Studies at the Brookings Institution and a contributing writer at The Atlantic. He is the author of nine books, including The Constitution of Knowledge: A Defense of Truth (2021), Cross Purposes: Christianity's Broken Bargain with Democracy (Yale, 2025), and Kindly Inquisitors: The New Attacks on Free Thought. A recipient of the National Magazine Award, he serves on the boards of Heterodox Academy and Civic Life, and is a longtime friend of the show. References: •       Rauch's Atlantic essay identifying eighteen “distinct and unmistakable signs” of a modern American reinvention of fascism — the piece he stands by, even as he admits the phenomenon keeps morphing. •       His recent essays for The UnPopulist on why liberal societies need grand stories about themselves, and why liberals must relearn how to brag about liberalism. •       Jonathan Rauch and Peter Wehner in The New York Times — the earlier argument, which Rauch says still holds, that the Republican Party is more dangerous to the constitution and the rule of law than the Democratic Party. •       Tim O'Reilly in The Economist — on Elon Musk building a form of capitalism that Adam Smith would hate. •       Francis Fukuyama — whose widely misunderstood The End of History thesis Rauch defends: there is only one system that creates wealth, produces knowledge, and settles political disputes on a global scal...

“If you can only explain the arguments of the other side because they're mad or dangerous or dumb, the problem is with you.” — Turi Munthe On yesterday's show, the psychiatrist Sally Satel described how Americans imagine their own mental condition differently, depending on their politics and age. Which is a nice segue for today's conversation with the Anglo-French journalist turned media entrepreneur Turi Munthe. It's not just in our mental health self-evaluation, Munthe argues, that we hallucinate reality. Indeed, the French born Munthe often sounds like one of his post-structuralist compatriots in his defiantly slippery notion of ontological reality. In Why We Think What We Think: The Unexpected Origins of Our Deepest Beliefs, Munthe argues that our deepest convictions turn out to be shaped by genetics, brain shape and sometimes even by the agricultural legacy of our distant ancestors. Left and right thinkers, Munthe argues, are different political phenotypes — each hallucinating their own version of reality. Total relativism, then — the full French post-structuralist monty? Not quite. Here's where Munthe's Englishness kicks in. Following the Anglo-Russian philosopher Isaiah Berlin, Munthe insists pluralism and relativism are different. So Turi Munthe doesn't just think what he thinks because of his English or French origins. Borrowing from the cognitive scientists Dan Sperber and Hugo Mercier, Munthe defines thinking as a “contact sport”. So, for example, believing that the 2020 election was stolen is what Munthe calls a social commitment, because humans would rather be wrong together than right alone. Speaking of convenient segues, Munthe's thoughts on thinking set the scene for next Tuesday's conversation with Emily Eakin, author of The Frenchmen. It's her history of seductive post-structuralists like Foucault, Derrida and Lacan who corrupted a whole generation of literary American Ivy Leaguers (including Eakin) into hallucinating reality. Five Takeaways •       Pluralism Is Not Relativism. Munthe opens with Isaiah Berlin's distinction: registering the sincerity and value of opinions across the political, religious, and ethical spectrum does not relativize truth. That Charles Windsor is King of the United Kingdom is a statement of fact; whether you're a monarchist or a republican is where opinion begins. The book confines itself to the second category — beliefs, values, and opinions that cannot be factually proven — and asks what the nonrational influences on them actually are. The answer is humbling: genetics account for perhaps half of political persuasion, and the rest is shaped by everything from brain anatomy to the agriculture of our ancestors. •       Different Political Phenotypes. At the margins, left and right differ neurologically: right-leaners are on average more readily startled by loud noises and more attentive to threat, while left-leaners carry a slightly larger anterior cingulate cortex — the brain region where we process ambiguity and split hairs. That anatomy, Munthe argues, explains the ideological capture of academia and media better than any conspiracy: hair-splitters go where the hair-splitting is, and a conservative 22-year-old doesn't volunteer for a newsroom where 80% of colleagues think differently. We are, in his phrase, different political phenotypes, each hallucinating a different version of reality. •       Thinking as a Contact Sport. Drawing on Dan Sperber and Hugo Mercier's research, Munthe argues that reason didn't evolve for solitary contemplation — Rodin's Thinker is the wrong image — but for argument: to convince you to hunt the buffalo with me, I need reasons that look objective to you too. The evidence is everywhere, from the most impactful academic papers being written by pairs and groups to the creative density of small university towns. The implication is political: the people we disagree with are not obstacles to good thinking but the condition of it — the loyal opposition that helps us get out of ourselves. •       Wrong Together Rather Than Right Alone. Munthe's reading of January 6 and the stolen-election faith is social rather than psychiatric: an enormous number of our beliefs matter more for what they do than for what they say, and professing them is a commitment to a group. From an evolutionary perspective, believing what your village believes — even about the god who is a giant rock at the end of the field — is intelligent, because the ostracized lose the protection of the group. The terrifying data point is the marriage test: in the 1950s, around 4% of families would have objected to a child marrying across party lines; today it approaches 45%. That is affective polarization, and it can pull societies apart. •       The Problem Is With You. Munthe spent his twenties unable to fathom American gun rights — supporters had to be bought, dumb, or morally corrupt — until he did the work and found a tradition he now calls beautiful and heroic, whether or not he shares it. His rule of thumb: if you can only explain the other side's arguments as madness, danger, or stupidity, the problem is with you. This is not centrism — there was no middle ground on slavery or the Holocaust — but a defense of the clash itself: societies need the left to fix inequality and the right to defend the village, and we think best when the two are, in his words, continually bashed against each other. About the Guest Turi Munthe is a journalist and policy analyst turned media entrepreneur. He founded Demotix, which became the largest network of photojournalists in the world before its sale to Corbis in 2012, and Parlia, an encyclopedia of opinion. He has written for The Economist, The Guardian, the TLS, The Nation, and The Spectator, has sat on the boards of Index on Censorship, openDemocracy, and the Bureau of Investigative Journalism, and is a board member of the Italian media group GEDI, publisher of La Repubblica and La Stampa. He studied Arabic and History at Oxford. Why We Think What We Think: The Unexpected Origins of Our Deepest Beliefs (Penguin/Hutchinson Heinemann) is out now in the UK, with US publication early next year. References: •       Why We Think What We Think: The Unexpected Origins of Our Deepest Beliefs by Turi Munthe (Penguin/Hutchinson Heinemann, 2026). Timothy Garton Ash: “Thinking is a contact sport.” •       Isaiah Berlin — the Anglo-Russian philosopher whose insistence that pluralism and relativism are not the same thing frames the whole book. •       Dan Sperber and Hugo Mercier...

“You can do as many brain scans as you want, but you'll never be able to distinguish an impulse that wasn't resisted from one that's irresistible.” — Sally Satel on why social media addiction can't be proven in court When Meta and YouTube lost the so-called landmark social media addiction trial back in March, there was jubilation inside and outside the courtroom. Finally, Big Tech seemed a bit less big. Justice, it seemed, had finally been done. Or maybe not. (Full disclosure: my wife is head of litigation at Google, so I might be a bit biased). But today's guest, the psychiatrist Sally Satel, doesn't have a dog (or husband) in the fight, and she's a skeptic of the trial's outcome. A senior fellow at the American Enterprise Institute and the medical director of a Washington methadone clinic, Satel argues that the concept of addiction — her clinical specialty — was distorted in the trial to serve a $1.4 trillion litigation pipeline. The plaintiffs' theory reifies addiction as behavior beyond control. If that were true, Satel argues, none of her patients would ever get better. Satel comes at this as a doctor rather than a moralist. Clinically, she acknowledges, social media addiction exists — excessive use, loss of control, continued harm — and the treatments are the same behavioral strategies she uses at her clinic. But legally, where causation is everything, the plaintiff argument collapses. No brain scan can ever distinguish an impulse that wasn't resisted from one that's irresistible. The mechanism of harm is unprovable — a ludicrously brittle foundation, Satel argues, for a trillion dollars of lawsuits against social media companies. So when is “addiction” really addiction? Satel's upcoming book Not a Disease: Rethinking Addiction in the Heart of America's Overdose Crisis, which will be out in early 2027, addresses this awkward truth. And we'll certainly have her back on the show to discuss. Five Takeaways •       The $1.4 Trillion Distortion of Addiction. The March bellwether verdict awarded “Kaley” $6 million from Meta and YouTube, but the real story is the litigation pipeline behind it — four states suing Meta in a single day, with total claims reaching $1.4 trillion. Satel's objection is professional: the lawsuits invoke brain science at the most superficial level and reify addiction as behavior beyond control. If addiction truly extinguished self-control, her methadone patients would never get better — and they do. Kaley herself had fragilities that long predated the platforms, one therapist testified social media barely came up in her sessions, and her stated career plan is to become an influencer. •       Clinically Real, Legally Incoherent. Satel's central distinction: in a clinic, social media addiction is a recognizable condition — excessive use, loss of control, continued harm — treatable with the same strategies she uses for drugs, from identifying idiosyncratic cues to self-binding tactics like grayscale screens and switched-off notifications. In a courtroom, where causation is everything, the concept falls apart. No brain scan can distinguish an impulse that wasn't resisted from one that's irresistible; the technology simply doesn't exist. The mechanism of harm at the center of the litigation is not just unproven but unprovable. •       Demoralization Is Not Depression. At her methadone clinic, nine patients out of ten arrive reciting diagnoses — bipolar, PTSD, depression — that closer examination reveals they don't have. What's medicated as depression is often demoralization: the entirely understandable response to crumbling public housing and an abusive partner. Younger people now diagnose themselves by internet, because a diagnosis has become valorized — a built-in excuse, a victim category, less expected of you. Gratifying in the short run, Satel argues, and developmentally retarding in the long run: less engagement with risk, with challenge, with the world. •       The Therapeutic Culture Meets Woke Therapy. Sixty years after Philip Rieff's Triumph of the Therapeutic, the medicalization of ordinary sadness is complete — grief becomes a prescription, and resources drain away from the seriously ill. The newer turn is political: counselor training now teaches that the therapist knows what's wrong before the patient speaks — oppression — and a congressional investigation is examining antisemitism within the American Psychological Association. Satel's emblematic story: a young man fired by his therapist for gently suggesting his rabbi's sermon had become too politicized. You don't fire a patient, she notes. The therapist's moral commitments bled into the room. •       The Good News About Fentanyl. Fentanyl deaths are falling significantly — not because fewer people use, but because far fewer die. Narcan is flooding the streets, nailed up in boxes on telephone poles and handed out free at clinics; the Chinese supply has tightened and Mexican distribution has been disrupted; and, as in every drug epidemic, the upcoming generation is opting out — the same dynamic the rappers documented during crack. The morbid factor is real too: many long-term users have died. Satel's book Not a Disease — rethinking addiction from the front lines of the overdose crisis — arrives in early 2027. About the Guest Sally Satel is a psychiatrist, a senior fellow at the American Enterprise Institute, and the medical director of a methadone clinic in Washington, DC. She is the author or co-author of PC, M.D., One Nation Under Therapy, and Brainwashed: The Seductive Appeal of Mindless Neuroscience, and her essays appear in Persuasion and The Free Press. Her new book, Not a Disease: Rethinking Addiction in the Heart of America's Overdose Crisis (MIT Press), is out in early 2027. References: •       Not a Disease: Rethinking Addiction in the Heart of America's Overdose Crisis by Sally Satel (MIT Press, early 2027) — drawn from her years on the front lines of the overdose crisis. •       Satel's recent Persuasion essay arguing that social media addiction is more complicated than the litigation suggests, and her Free Press pieces on social media addiction and on why fentanyl deaths are falling. •       One Nation Under Therapy and Brainwashed: The Seductive Appeal of Mindless Neuroscience — Satel's earlier assaults on the therapeutic culture and superficial brain science. •       The Age of Diagnosis by Suzanne O'Sullivan — the book behind the episode's framing question: which comes first, the diagnosis or the anxiety? •       Philip Rieff — whose The Triumph of the Thera...

The Israeli art restorer and spy Gabriel Allon is as real as George Smiley or Hercule Poirot. He even has his own Wikipedia page. The CNN special correspondent Jamie Gangel describes herself on X as a friend of Gabriel Allon before she gets around to mentioning her husband, the best-selling thriller writer Daniel Silva who, of course, is the creator of Allon. As with all successful literary inventions, of course, Silva is as much Allon as Allon is Silva. Silva-Allon. Amongst the most lucrative partnerships in contemporary fiction. Unsurprisingly, Silva still hasn't managed to kill off Allon. Twenty-six books into the series, the retired Mossad legend turned Venice art restorer is the truest fake spy in the business — a character so real that Silva, who seems to revel in his insularity, has to lock himself away from imagining how readers receive him. Or perhaps he's locking himself away from Allon. In Ransom, out today, a billionaire real estate baron asks Allon to find his vanished wife, the dazzling socialite Alice Winter — who has, of course, a darker life. Behind Silva's latest summer best-seller looms Russia's shadow war on Europe. That's the post-cold war cold war politics of Ransom. Unit 29155, the GRU's sabotage specialists, are hitting pipelines and flying drones over Copenhagen, an MI6 officer describes the Russians as feral animals, and Ransom's climax unfolds at an emergency Downing Street summit with Zelensky without the United States in the room. It's a terrifying narrative as real as Gabriel Allon. Five Takeaways •       An Art Restorer Who Used to Be a Spy. Gabriel Allon was invented for one book — a 1999 novel inspired by the Camp David peace process, written like a demon in a cottage near Land's End — and was never meant to continue. Twenty-six books later, Silva has flipped the character's formula: once an operative whose cover was art restoration, Allon is now an art restorer who used to be a spy, formally retired and living in Venice. As for his age, Silva freezes time the way Christie froze Poirot: Allon is aging in reverse, quite intentionally, and Silva will write him for as long as people want to read him. •       Russia's Shadow War on Europe. The serious spine of Ransom is the campaign of sabotage and subversion that Russia is waging against all of Western Europe — the GRU's Unit 29155 hitting pipelines, running hacking operations, and flying the drones that shut down Copenhagen Airport and pushed Denmark toward its highest state of alert. One MI6 officer tells Silva the Russians are acting like feral animals, and the worse the battlefield goes, the more aggressive the sabotage becomes. Silva has been here before: Moscow Rules put him ahead of the curve on Putin in 2008, and Allon's personal war with Putinism enters its latest round. •       Writing an Israeli Hero After October 7. Allon is the old Israeli liberal establishment made flesh — secular, social-democratic, the Ashkenazi security elite whose surviving members now oppose the conduct of the war. Silva, an avowed two-stater, saw the change coming years before October 7: quoting his friend Richard Haass, this is not your parents' or grandparents' Israel. Allon, he insists, would never serve in a cabinet alongside far-right extremists like Ben-Gvir and Smotrich — and they wouldn't have him. What happened on October 7 was barbaric, Silva says, but this war has gone on far too long. •       The Super Rich, With a Judgmental Eye. It's fun to write about the rich — the jets, the expensive toys, the glamour of Venice, Knightsbridge, and Ibiza — but Silva does it for a specific reason: to draw the contrast between how they live and how the rest of us live. A new global super elite is checking out from everyone else, he argues — unwilling to pay taxes, to educate the young, or to care for the sick — so Ransom balances the socialite's world against an encampment of homeless seasonal workers on Ibiza. Britain itself gets the same treatment: austerity, seven prime ministers in a decade, and shires where nobody is doing very well. •       Pencils on the Floor. Silva calls himself a literary novelist masquerading as a thriller writer, and his working methods match the self-description: he lies on the floor and writes with pencils, keeping technology as far from the work as possible. AI appears in Ransom only because the plot demanded it — a proof-of-life photograph that has to be checked for deepfakery, in a world where even presidents fake pictures. The thought of asking AI to write for him prompts a simple question: what would be the point? A book a year since 1997, and book 27 began the day after this one was finished. About the Guest Daniel Silva is the award-winning, #1 New York Times bestselling author of twenty-six Gabriel Allon novels, including The Kill Artist, Moscow Rules, Portrait of an Unknown Woman, A Death in Cornwall, and An Inside Job. His books are published in more than thirty countries. He lives in Florida with his wife, CNN special correspondent Jamie Gangel — who describes herself on X as a friend of Gabriel Allon before mentioning her husband. His new novel is Ransom (HarperCollins, July 14, 2026). References: •       Ransom by Daniel Silva (HarperCollins, July 14, 2026) — book 26 of the Gabriel Allon series. James Patterson: “Silva can really write, the bastard.” •       Moscow Rules (2008) — the novel Silva is proudest of, which put him ahead of the curve on Putin and began Allon's personal war with the Russian secret services. •       The Kill Artist (2001) — Allon's first appearance, inspired by the Camp David peace process and written in a rented cottage near Land's End. •       Unit 29155 — the real GRU sabotage unit behind the pipeline attacks, hacking operations, and drone incursions that drive the novel's plot, including the 2025 shutdown of Copenhagen Airport. •       John le Carré — whose George Smiley, Silva concedes, needs no advice from Gabriel Allon, though the two would have got on had they met on Bywater Street. •       Richard Haass — the foreign policy analyst and friend of Silva's whose line frames the Israel discussion: this is not your parents' or your grandparents' Israel any longer. About Keen On America Nobody asks more awkward questions than the Anglo-American writer and filmmaker Andrew Keen. In Keen On America, Andrew brings his pointed Transatlantic wit to making sense of the United States — hosting daily interviews about the history and future of this now venerable Republic. With nearly 3,000 episodes since the show launched on...

The leftist cultural critic David Masciotra isn't happy with the state of America in the first half of 2026. His dislike of the MAGA crowd goes without saying. But his anger at the state of progressive politics is more noteworthy. So far, he says, 2026 has been — to borrow from Antonio Gramsci — a time for monsters both on the left and right. With its “Epstein class” vocabulary, knee-jerk Luddism and AIPAC litmus tests, the left, Masciotra argues, is mimicking MAGA in its paranoid bigotry. The year's most disturbing story so far is Graham Platner, the erstwhile Maine Senate candidate who, Masciotra suggests, is either an idiot or a Nazi. Equally disturbing were the “progressives” who blindly defended Platner until the most recent rape accusations. So how to slay these monsters on the left? What's missing, Masciotra argues, is the kind of positively benevolent Jacksonian (Jesse) vision which seizes the moral high ground of American politics. We are still waiting for the next Bill Clinton, Obama, or even Bernie able to imagine a new dawn for the left in America. Maybe we'll see the early shoots of a more optimistic progressivism in the second half of the year. In the manner of a football (soccer) match, let's hope 2026 turns out to be a year of two halves. Five Takeaways •       The Old Gods Return. Masciotra's answer to the what-time-is-it question is that 2026 has seen the old gods stumble back onto the landscape: nationalism, male chauvinism, paranoia and conspiracism. Borrowing from Zygmunt Bauman, he argues that we have moved from a solid age to a liquid one, in which nothing feels stable — and instability inculcates a nostalgia that is usually irrational and ill-informed. People are reaching for the resurrection of manufacturing, the male-headed nuclear family, even a return to religion, with young Americans reportedly turning to Catholicism. Quality of life is objectively better than in our grandparents' era, and yet we live in an age of doom-scrolling and pessimism. •       The Epstein Class and the Left's New Litmus Tests. The criticism of Israeli conduct after October 7 has morphed, for many on the left, into an all-encompassing paranoia in which AIPAC, Zionists, and “the Epstein class” control everything. Graham Platner coupled those terms constantly in his stump speeches — antisemitic conspiracy-mongering 101, in Masciotra's phrase — and declaring Israel genocidal has become a litmus test in Democratic primaries from Maine to Denver to California. Masciotra, who saw Jesse Jackson spend decades atoning for Hymietown, calls this the most important story of 2026 to monitor: the collapse of parts of the progressive left into bigotry, misogyny tolerance, and purity tests. •       Luxury Beliefs and Streamer Politics. Voter turnout used to be organized bottom-up — black churches, the NAACP, Jackson's Rainbow PUSH Coalition — around the issues of actual neighborhoods. Now streamers like Hasan Piker mobilize thousands of calls into districts they know nothing about, amplifying what Masciotra calls luxury beliefs: positions whose consequences never touch the people who hold them, from making every race about Israel to defunding police in neighborhoods the believers don't live in. Whether it's Piker on the left or Nick Fuentes on the right, national streamers will always champion luxury beliefs, because they lack the knowledge to champion local ones. •       Working-Class Drag Doesn't Work. Platner looked like he had just changed a tire and talked like a pro wrestler cutting a promo on Susan Collins — and the polls showed Collins beating him even before he dropped out over credible accusations of rape and domestic violence. White working-class voters, Masciotra argues, are not looking for someone in the right costume with the right gravelly voice; they have real beliefs, and they respond to people who speak directly to their concerns rather than in the nomenclature of consultant firms. Nobody in Maine piecing together a living as a farmer or a home-health aide has AIPAC first and foremost on their mind. •       Waiting for the Benevolent Vision. What the half-year lacks, from Washington to Westminster, is what Jesse Jackson had even for his critics: a benevolent vision. Masciotra finds it today in Bryan Stevenson and the civil rights tradition he calls the moral center of American politics, and in Senator Raphael Warnock, who preaches from King's old church. His policy candidate for the next Clinton-or-Obama moment is a self-employment manifesto — politics for the millions piecing together gig work who appear in nobody's rhetoric, not the manufacturing nostalgia of the right nor the union nostalgia of the left. And on AI, he sees an opening: oppose the secretly-dealt data centers, as presidential hopeful J.B. Pritzker has, but harness the technology for the precariat rather than the moguls. About the Guest David Masciotra is a cultural critic, journalist, and lecturer. He is the author of six books, including Exurbia Now: The Battleground of American Democracy (Melville House, 2024) and I Am Somebody: Why Jesse Jackson Matters (Bloomsbury, 2020), drawn from his many years working alongside the late Reverend Jackson. His writing appears in UnHerd, The New Republic, Washington Monthly, The Progressive, and the Los Angeles Review of Books, and he teaches literature and political science in Indiana. He is a longtime friend of the show. References: •       Exurbia Now: The Battleground of American Democracy by David Masciotra (Melville House, 2024). Booklist, starred review: “Insight and a fresh perspective on the culture wars.” •       I Am Somebody: Why Jesse Jackson Matters (Bloomsbury, 2020) — Masciotra's biography of the Reverend, discussed here for Jackson's decades of recompense after the 1984 Hymietown remark. •       Zygmunt Bauman — the Polish sociologist of liquid modernity, quoted in Exurbia Now, whose move from solidity to liquidity frames the episode's diagnosis of nostalgia. •       Antonio Gramsci — the Prison Notebooks passage on the interregnum, in both its translations: morbid symptoms and monsters. •       Masciotra's recent UnHerd essays — on why Democrats gave Graham Platner a free pass, on the party's luxury belief agenda, and on Stephen Colbert as the emblem of detached establishment liberalism. •       Bryan Stevenson — founder of the Equal Justice Initiative and the legacy sites memorializing slavery and lynching; the subject of Masciotra's forthcoming piece and, in his view, the closest thing 2026 has to a benevolent vision. About Keen On America Nobody asks more awkward questions than the Anglo-American writer and filmmaker Andrew Keen. In Keen On America, Andrew brin...

Will 2026 be one of those grand historical years that change the world — like 1917, 1789 or 1968? Not according to Keith Teare, publisher of That Was The Week newsletter and co-host of our weekly tech roundup. For Keith, the best historical analogy is 1905, the year of the first abortive Russian revolution. The year that didn't change the world. Keith's latest tech newsletter asks “What Time Is It?” His answer is that we have “multiple clocks” — micro and macro, short, medium, and long term to make sense of our current AI moment. This week, for example, OpenAI and Anthropic both shipped work-focused products, and most of the world hasn't noticed. Thus his allusion to 1905. We are on the brink of massive change. But nothing is going to change. Not quite yet. Until everything does. Five Takeaways •       It's 1905 in the AI Economy. Keith's answer to the what-time-is-it question is the failed Russian revolution — the moment when the variables of transformation were all in motion but nothing was yet visible, and which took seventy years to fully play out. AI's radical change is real, he argues, but it is being experienced by a small number of people and is not yet generalized through the economy. The evidence of the week: OpenAI and Anthropic both shipped work-focused products — and most of the world shrugged. •       The Socialist Temptation of Slippery Sam. The Wall Street Journal frames Altman's offer of 5% of OpenAI to Washington as socialism creeping into Silicon Valley. Keith — who hated the word even when he was a communist — says the term has been Americanized into meaninglessness: it now just means the capitalist state doing more. What Altman is actually proposing is capitalism's end game — a sovereign wealth fund holding equity in the companies everybody wants to fund, so that private wealth creation reaches the point where everyone can imagine benefiting from it. The precise opposite of British Leyland. •       The Multiple Clocks. Keith's framework sorts the week's flood of AI news into micro and macro issues running on short, medium, and long-term timelines. At the micro-short corner sits deployment friction: Microsoft and Amazon spending billions on forward-deployed engineers, and Apple suing OpenAI. In the middle, work adapts — the human as the driver of AI rather than AI imposed on humans. At the top sits Arvind Narayanan's idea of AI as a “normal technology,” which deflates hysteria without deflating importance: electricity was a normal technology too, and it still changed everything — just slower than its loudest advocates expected. •       Abundance and Its Discontents. Matt Yglesias argues that saving capitalism requires radical land use reform, which reignites the show's longest-running argument. Keith's case: the Elizabeth Line and the congestion zone have redefined London, multiplying its effective land fifty-fold, and a house twenty minutes from the center can be had for a couple of hundred thousand pounds. Andrew's case: prices haven't fallen, London is more expensive than ever, and free is doing a lot of work as “a tendency, not an achievement.” The quarrel is adjourned until next week, with Keith cheerfully moonlighting as a real estate agent. •       Two Americas — and the Small Stuff. Ivan Krastev tells Yascha Mounk that American exceptionalism ran roughly from 1850 to Vietnam and has been replaced by defensive preservation — MAGA as a reaction to decline rather than a vision. Noah Smith's version: America can't build a passenger train, yet its AI industry is upending the world. And against John Battelle's worry that digital life has lost the plot, Keith offers the week's best rejoinder to Ian Bogost's small stuff: go back in history, and no one had time for small things. What we are living through is creeping abundance. The week closes with farewells — to Psion founder David Potter, a week after Om Malik. About the Guest Keith Teare is the founder and editor of the That Was The Week tech newsletter, and Andrew's weekly co-host. A British-born Silicon Valley entrepreneur and investor, he was a co-founder of TechCrunch and runs the Palo Alto–based venture firm SignalRank. He and Andrew have been arguing about technology — productively — every week for years. References: •       That Was The Week — Keith's newsletter; this week's edition asks what time it is in the AI economy and lays out the multiple clocks framework. •       The Wall Street Journal piece on the socialist temptation of Sam Altman, and Altman's proposal that the US government hold 5% of OpenAI. •       Arvind Narayanan — the Princeton computer scientist whose framing of AI as a “normal technology” anchors the civilizational clock. •       Matt Yglesias — whose piece argues that saving capitalism requires radical land use reform. •       Ivan Krastev — the Bulgarian political theorist, interviewed in Yascha Mounk's Persuasion on why America has lost faith in itself. •       Noah Smith and Paul Krugman — on the American age and the perennial Europe-versus-US economic comparison, respectively. •       John Battelle — the Web 2.0 pioneer asking whether we've lost the plot, quoting Ian Bogost in Wired. •       The Small Stuff: How to Lead a More Gratifying Life by Ian Bogost (Simon & Schuster) — the interview of the week on Keen On America. •       The New Geography of Innovation by Mehran Gul (Avid Reader Press/Simon & Schuster) — also on this week's show, on America, China, and everyone else. •       David Potter — the founder of Psion, builder of the first handheld computer and later a governor of the Bank of England, who died this week and is Keith's post of the week. About Keen On America Nobody asks more awkward questions than the Anglo-American writer and filmmaker Andrew Keen. In Keen On America, Andrew brings his pointed Transatlantic wit to making sense of the United States — hosting daily interviews about the history and future of this now venerable Republic. With nearly 3,000 episodes since the show launched on TechCrunch in 2010, Keen On America is the most prolific intellectual interview show in the history of podcasting. Website Substack YouTube

“Someone said, oh, you look like Steve Bannon, and I love you for that… No, I just shaved my hair and lost some pounds.” — Kaya Genç on Trumpism's global fanbase The NATO circus rumbled into the Turkish capital of Ankara this week resembling more of a gun show than an alliance summit. Ringmaster Donald J. Trump promised Recep Tayyip Erdoğan the F-35s and lifted the very sanctions that Trump himself had imposed. Erdogan handed out pistols to the assembled leaders — with poor old Keir Starmer (no Winston Churchill) leaving his at the airport. And observing all these clowns from Istanbul was the Turkish novelist and essayist Kaya Genç. As a contributor to the anthology How We See It: The World Looks at America in the Age of Trump, Genç is a keen America watcher. He first set foot in the United States in January 2017, stumbling into New York City's protests against Trump 1.0's Muslim-ban. What seemed temporary — Trump as a bizarre historical aberration — looked to Erdogan-literate Kaya Genç like an operating manual for 21st century populist authoritarianism. Turkey, Genç argues, has spent a century Americanizing itself. First with the 20th century Marshall Plan, the highways, the Hilton hotels, and finally an American-style executive presidency operating on the politics of referendum. Now, he says, the whole world — from Turkey to France and Britain — is living with the consequences of 21st century Americanization. Like a more functional NATO, right-wing populists operate like an international alliance. Erdogan, Trump, Meloni, Le Pen and Farage are like a club in which projecting strength at summits buys impunity at home. And this club has a house style. Turkish right-wing columnists, Genç reports, deploy Michael Corleone on their X banners — exactly David Thomson's warning earlier this week about Hollywood's glorification of on-screen violence. So, in a way, America observers like Kaya Genç got a sneak preview of Trump's America in movies like The Godfather. First as cinema, then as life. From both Turkey and Russia with love. Five Takeaways •       NATO: The Club of the Mighty. The night before the summit, activists were rounded up in Ankara — LGBTQ rights defenders, labor unionists, journalists — as threats to NATO security. In Turkish civil society, Genç explains, NATO doesn't represent the liberal world order; it represents the mighty, and has since the writers of the 1960s. The summit itself was a military passion show: jets overhead, revolvers gifted among the attendees, and a host country whose ruling politicians no longer hide that arms exports — including the drones Ukraine used so effectively — are now the mission of the Turkish economy. •       Trump: A Star Among Right-Wing Voters Everywhere. In India, a chubbier, longer-haired Genç was once told: you look like Steve Bannon, and I love you for that. The Turkish media savaged Biden but forgives Trump everything — Netanyahu is the villain of the Turkish press, while Trump speaks the language. Not Turkish (though he tried a phrase): the language of the presidential system. The Turkish right's America has always been selective — yes to the death penalty and gun ownership, no to labor rights, free expression, and the trans movement — an instinct as old as the poet Mehmet Akif Ersoy's advice to copy Germany's industriousness and leave out the decadence. •       Living the Consequences of Americanization. Turkey began its republic in the 1920s on the European model — parliament, proportional voices for an ethnically diverse country. After the Marshall Plan, it re-forged itself on the American one: highways, Hilton hotels, burger joints, and eventually an American-style executive presidency, approved by referendum over the objections of people like Genç. That's why Trump 1.0 read so differently in the two countries: in New York it looked like an exception to be fought off; in Ankara it looked like how American politics works — and something to imitate. •       Populists Learn Like Large Language Models. Did Erdogan create the model, or is Trump teaching Erdogan? Neither, says Genç: it's a dialogue — right-wing populism learning from itself the way AI learns from language models. The AKP ran a Gramscian culture war through the institutions; Meloni, Le Pen, and Farage apply the cosmetic soft brush that makes fascist-rooted politics presentable. Join the club, project strength at the summit, and whatever you do domestically stops mattering. Putin, notably, is not in the curriculum: Turkey is returning its S-400s to get the F-35s, and Russia is becoming a footnote. •       The Hologram and the Pushback. Ekrem Imamoglu — the Istanbul mayor Genç profiles in The Dial as the hologram candidate — won the city with socialist municipalism, and the skeptics who warned it would alienate the pious were simply wrong. Soft liberalism, the faith Genç himself held since the nineties, is disappearing; the pushback is finding its heroes in dead poets — Rosa Luxemburg, and Sevgi Soysal, whose novel Walking is out in English from New York Review Books. From Istanbul to Middle America, Mamdani to AOC, Genç's advice to the left is the same: don't fragment — conquer the big parties. About the Guest Kaya Genç is a novelist and essayist from Istanbul. He is the author of Under the Shadow: Rage and Revolution in Modern Turkey and The Lion and the Nightingale, and his writing appears in The Dial, The Guardian, Foreign Policy, Index on Censorship, and Jewish Quarterly. He is a contributor to How We See It: The World Looks at America in the Age of Trump (The New Press, June 2026), edited by The Dial's Madeleine Schwartz. References: •       How We See It: The World Looks at America in the Age of Trump, edited by Madeleine Schwartz (The New Press, June 2026). Publishers Weekly: “A much-needed reality check.” •       Madeleine Schwartz — founder and editor-in-chief of The Dial, editor of the anthology, and a recent guest on the show. •       Under the Shadow: Rage and Revolution in Modern Turkey — Genç's account of Turkey's political generation, published just after the 2016 coup attempt. •       Ece Temelkuran — the Turkish writer and recent guest whose How to Lose a Country globalized the Turkish case as a warning to democracies everywhere. •       Sevgi Soysal — the Turkish novelist who died at 40, whose Walking — a portrait of Ankara slowly killing itself for profit — is out in English from New York Review Books, reviewed by Genç. •       David Thomson — the film critic and recent guest whose argument that Trumpism grew from Hollywood's lov...

“A place that doesn't have great philosophers will not have great technologists either.” — Mehran Gul on Europe's inexplicable underperformance The digital revolution, we were promised, would mean the end of geography. From Beijing to Birmingham to Berlin to Barcelona, anyone could invent anything anywhere, and so the geography of innovation would no longer matter. But that's not the way it has worked out. At least according to the Geneva-based innovation geographer Mehran Gul. Gul's acclaimed The New Geography of Innovation is a travelogue of innovation. But what he finds on his journey around the world in search of innovation is the end of the end of geography. Yes, Gul reports, there's innovation in Beijing and in Birmingham (USA) — but not in Birmingham (England), Berlin or Barcelona. All the important invention is in China and the US. There simply isn't much radical stuff going on anywhere else. Gul began his journey expecting to find ten or twelve countries able to innovate competitively with the United States and China. But what he discovered is either niche players or, in the case of South Korea, Israel, and India, just an extension of the US-centric system. Europe — as renters rather than owners of American technology — comes off worst. When PayPal went public, it minted 160 millionaires who went on to help build SpaceX, Tesla, LinkedIn and Palantir; when Skype exited at about the same value, it minted 11. And if you put London aside, the rest of the UK is now poorer per capita than Mississippi. And the AI boom has only compounded all this, with half of last year's key research papers coming from China, 40% from America, and just 4% from Europe. So really the new geography of innovation is the old geography. Only with China replacing Europe as the only serious competitor to American innovation. Oh lord, oh lord. As a Mississippi bluesman might summarize Europe's predicament. Five Takeaways •       Golden Shares: The Two Systems Are Converging. OpenAI offering Washington a 5% stake, the US government owning Intel — these are Chinese moves, and Gul argues the two models are becoming more alike than either admits. But he pushes back on the lazy version of the China story: its tech sector rose despite the state, not because of it. Jack Ma exiled to Japan, Didi hit with a billion in fines, entire sectors decapitated overnight in 2021 under the banner of common prosperity. In a country with no independent media and no opposition parties, the only rival to centralized power is the tech sector — and the party knows it. •       Two Countries — and Everyone Else. Gul started writing expecting to find ten or twelve countries punching at America's level; the honest answer turned out to be two. Only China has broad-based competence across technologies and a genuinely competitive relationship with the US. The middle powers — South Korea, Israel, India — are extensions of the American system, not rivals to it. That finding surprised the author as much as anyone: it's not the book he set out to write. •       Europe: Renters, Not Owners. After the Fable 5 and Mythos bans, Europe woke up to being a renter of American technology — foundation models, NVIDIA GPUs, all of it. Its best companies keep leaving: DeepMind to Google, Arm to a New York listing, Hugging Face from Paris to Manhattan — while Volvo, Supercell, and KUKA sold to China. Gul's diagnosis is institutional, not cultural: European employees own half as much of their startups as American ones, so there is no European PayPal mafia. His fixes: a European Nasdaq to replace 41 competing capital markets, and pension funds unleashed into venture capital. •       The Question Nobody Is Asking. Since 1990, America's share of global GDP has held at 25% while China's multiplied tenfold — the loser is Europe. The top ten American tech companies are worth $27 trillion, more than the GDP of every country on earth except America itself. Tech is not one industry among many; it is the foundation of all of them — the new cars came from Tesla, not GM. Gul's message to the skeptical Spaniard enjoying long lunches: the last sixty years of American platform dominance skewed power across the Atlantic, and the next sixty will add China to the bill. •       The Rest of the Map: Anti Case Studies. Japan tops the freedom indexes, has the technical schools, and still never escaped the keiretsu — disproving Matt Ridley's claim that innovation is simply the child of freedom. Taiwan's relevance comes down to one company and Morris Chang's missed promotion at Texas Instruments. Singapore is an inspiration, not a model — a one-party city-state that invoices NVIDIA's chips and banks ASEAN's venture capital. India underperforms while Indians excel — 56 notable American foundation models last year, 35 Chinese, barely one Indian. And Switzerland reminds us innovation isn't only venture-backed: a train network running on renewables since the 1960s. About the Guest Mehran Gul writes about technology and business. He is the winner of the Financial Times/McKinsey Bracken Bower Prize, from which The New Geography of Innovation grew. He attended Yale as a Fulbright Scholar, Fox International Fellow, and Teaching Fellow, has been a Lead for the Digital Transformation of Industries at the World Economic Forum in Geneva, and served as an expert on entrepreneurship and industrial policy at the United Nations Industrial Development Organization in Vienna. Born in Pakistan, he lives in Switzerland. The New Geography of Innovation: The Global Contest for Breakthrough Technologies (Avid Reader Press/Simon & Schuster), a Financial Times Book of the Year, is his first book, out in paperback this month in the US and UK. References: •       The New Geography of Innovation: The Global Contest for Breakthrough Technologies by Mehran Gul (Avid Reader Press/Simon & Schuster). The Wall Street Journal: “An ambitious tour of technological innovation.” •       Sebastian Mallaby — author of The Power Law, which argues China's tech rise owes more to American-style risk capital arriving in Shanghai and Shenzhen than to the state; recently on the show discussing his biography of Demis Hassabis. •       Kai-Fu Lee — author of AI Superpowers, cited by Gul as the classic account of tech written through a Chinese lens. •       Matt Ridley — author of How Innovation Works, whose thesis that innovation is “the child of freedom and the parent of prosperity” Gul tests against the anti case study of Japan. •       Andrew Keen — author of How t...

“I crack the tab open, and I feel the cold metal… I hear the tink and give of the aluminum. And maybe when I'm done, I crush it into a small patty.” — Ian Bogost on the everyday enchantment of a Diet Coke can Don't sweat the small stuff is one of the most persistent (and annoying) mantras of the self-help industry. But the counter-intuitive Atlantic columnist Ian Bogost advises the opposite. In his new book, The Small Stuff, Bogost suggests that gratification lies in our appreciation of small stuff like the crinkle of empty Diet Coke cans and the foldability of plane tickets. Max Weber argued that disenchantment was the defining quality of modernity, but in The Small Stuff, Bogost maps a way back to it. What we need to get away from, he says, is “optimization” — metrics, feedback loops, money as a proxy for a place in heaven. Rather than the cult of delayed gratification, pick up that empty coke can and revel in its architectural glory. Or lick a tree. That's how to be enchanted in postmodernity. Five Takeaways •       Sweat the Small Stuff. Bogost inverts three decades of self-help orthodoxy: the small stuff is precisely what we should be sweating. The crack of a Diet Coke tab, the cold metal warming in your hand, the can crushed into a patty before the recycling bin — these sensory encounters are not where deep purpose lives, and Bogost never claims they are. But they recur every day, sometimes several times a day, and accepting them as meaningful rather than as noise to get through delivers what he calls a surprising payload of engagement and enchantment. For some it's Diet Coke; for others, woodworking, gardening, or the gear shift of a manual transmission. •       Dematerialization: How We Lost the World. The book's central diagnosis is what Bogost calls dematerialization — the slow disconnection from the physical world driven by convenience technologies. The QR code that replaced the concert ticket you might have pinned to a bulletin board. The automatic faucet you wave at awkwardly in the public restroom — which never works, and doesn't even save water; it just makes buildings easier to manage. The process is decades old, hardly limited to computers, and it stripped the texture from everyday life so gradually that nobody noticed what was being given up. •       It's Sensory, Not Physical — and Not Anti-Tech. This is not a go-touch-grass book. Bogost insists the small stuff is sensory rather than physical, and that smartphones are compelling precisely because they are delightful — the smooth glass that demands to be touched, the thunderstorm animation in the weather app. Everything is technology, including the clothes on your body and the language in your mouth. He gave his twelve-year-old a smartwatch rather than banning screens, because parenting means living in the same world as your kids — and kids must live a contemporary life to become the adults who invent the next one. •       We Already Got Rid of God — So Meaning Had to Move. Pressed on Weber and the Protestant ethic, Bogost argues that secularization emptied out the place where meaning used to live — good works justified by an infinite time in heaven — and replaced it with happiness, purpose, and wealth as proxies. The result is a hyper-optimized, future-oriented culture in which everything worth doing is worth doing for some later payoff. Bogost admits he struggles with this himself: the health wearable he wears while writing a book against quantification. What he loves about his morning walk isn't the step count. It's the twigs crunching underfoot. •       The Quietism Charge — and the AI Twist. Isn't this stoicism for the age of Trump, the same charge leveled at Heidegger's silence before the Nazis? Bogost anticipates the critique: we are and must be both political creatures and creatures who live moment to moment in our bodies — he asks no one to abandon the fight, only to stop missing the life underneath it. And the timing is no accident. As AI takes over the big stuff, Bogost suspects it may push us back into the sensory world — he consults ChatGPT about fixing his range thermostat, then goes and fixes it with his hands. About the Guest Ian Bogost is a contributing writer at The Atlantic and the author of eleven books, including The Small Stuff and Play Anything. He is the Barbara and David Thomas Distinguished Professor at Washington University in St. Louis, where he teaches computer science and engineering, film and media studies, and art and design. He is also an award-winning game designer whose work is held in collections including the Smithsonian American Art Museum. He is the author of The Small Stuff: How to Lead a More Gratifying Life (Simon & Schuster, July 7, 2026). References: •       The Small Stuff: How to Lead a More Gratifying Life by Ian Bogost (Simon & Schuster, July 7, 2026). The New Yorker: “Bogost's joy is infectious.” •       Play Anything: The Pleasure of Limits, the Uses of Boredom, and the Secret of Games (2016) — Bogost's earlier book, the subject of his June 2020 appearance on the show. •       Alien Phenomenology, or What It's Like to Be a Thing (2012) — Bogost's “straight up philosophy book” where he first explored the idea of wonder. •       Max Weber — the German sociologist who identified disenchantment as the defining quality of modernity, and whose The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism frames the discussion of delayed gratification and the afterlife. •       Matthew Crawford — mutual friend of host and guest, author of Shop Class as Soulcraft and The World Beyond Your Head, earlier explorers of the same terrain. •       Martin Heidegger — the philosopher whose ideas of thrownness and being-in-the-world haunt the book, though his name never appears in it, and whose Nazi-era quietism frames the political critique. About Keen On America Nobody asks more awkward questions than the Anglo-American writer and filmmaker Andrew Keen. In Keen On America, Andrew brings his pointed Transatlantic wit to making sense of the United States — hosting daily interviews about the history and future of this now venerable Republic. With nearly 3,000 episodes since the show launched on TechCrunch in 2010, Keen On America is the most prolific intellectual interview show in the history of podcasting. Website Substack 

“America has a rigged economy held in place by a corrupt system of campaign finance.” — the message Tad Devine and Ben Tulchin developed for Bernie Sanders, which tested highest in Iowa and New Hampshire in 2015 How the Democrats Screwed Bernie. It could have been coined by Donald Trump. That was Tad Devine's first objection when his editor floated it. But as Devine, Bernie Sanders' chief strategist on his 2016 Presidential campaign, worked on the book about the 2016 campaign, he realised it most accurately expressed how he felt about what actually happened. And so the new tell-all — the inside account of the historic Sanders campaign — is, indeed, entitled How the Democrats Screwed Bernie. Devine was never an outsider. He worked on Al Gore's 2000 and John Kerry's 2004 presidential campaigns. He first met Bernie Sanders in 1996, when Peter DeFazio — the Oregon congressman for whom Devine and his partner Mike Donilon had just run a near-miraculous campaign — suggested they meet. Sanders had almost lost his House seat in 1994. Devine's campaign won it back by 26 points. Ten years later, Devine ran Sanders' successful Senate campaign against a free-spending billionaire. They won by 30 points. Devine schooled Bernie in the insider-politics of the Democratic party. But he didn't transform him into an insider. Bernie was and is always Bernie. The consummate outsider. So how, exactly, did the Dems screw Bernie? According to Devine, it was a coordinated campaign by the Clinton Machine, the DNC, and a network of Super PACs to stop a wildly popular outsider through dark money, dirty tricks, and deliberately structured primary rules. The unHillary candidate who, Devine argues, may well have been the people's choice — and could have beaten Donald Trump in November 2016. But Bernie's real legacy, Devine insists, is not what was done to him. It's his campaign message. “America has a rigged economy held in place by a corrupt system of campaign finance.” That outsider language — which Devine developed with pollster Ben Tulchin — captures how America is screwing itself. The consummate insider Trump stole Bernie's language. And if the Democrats want to screw the MAGA crowd in 2028, they need to seize back this outsider message. Five Takeaways •       The Title That Sounded Like Trump: Devine's first reaction when his Simon & Schuster editor proposed the title: I don't want to be anything like Trump. But as he worked through the process of writing the book, he came to see that the title most accurately expressed how he felt about what happened in 2016. The Democratic establishment — the Clinton Machine, the DNC, the network of Super PACs and media allies — used dark money, dirty tricks, opposition research, and deliberately structured primary rules to stop a wildly popular outsider candidate. A candidate who, the book argues, may well have been the people's choice and may well have defeated Donald Trump. •       How Devine Met Bernie: 1996, Peter DeFazio, and 26 Points: Devine was already a Democratic establishment figure when Peter DeFazio — a progressive Oregon congressman — introduced him to Sanders in early 1996. Sanders had almost lost his House seat in 1994; Devine's firm came in a month before the 1996 election and reversed the trajectory. Sanders won by 26 points. Ten years later, Devine ran Sanders' Senate campaign against a billionaire who spent the equivalent of $350 million in California, and they won by 30 points. A bond of trust formed between the establishment consultant and the independent socialist, though it was a relationship in which the label-defying aspect went both ways: Bernie, you're a United States senator, Devine told him. That is the establishment. •       The Rigged Economy Message: What Bernie Actually Contributed: The most important moment in the 2016 campaign was not a debate or a rally. It was a polling session in 2015 in which Devine and pollster Ben Tulchin combined two separate arguments — a rigged economy and a corrupt system of campaign finance — into a single sentence: “America has a rigged economy held in place by a corrupt system of campaign finance.” It tested as the highest message in Iowa and New Hampshire. That, Devine argues, is Bernie's real legacy: the identification of the structural problem. Until that problem is fixed — until the campaign finance system that rigs the economy is reformed — the economy will continue to crush the middle class and make it impossible for people to afford groceries, gas, and healthcare. •       The Real Populist vs the Phony One: Trump saw the same diagnosis Bernie had identified and grabbed it — infusing it with his xenophobia, racism, pathological lying, and contempt for democratic norms. The populist message was the same; the bundle around it was entirely different. Bernie represents a belief that government has a role in serving people. Trump represents a belief that government should serve rich people and punish everyone else, wrapped in the language of the working class. That, Devine argues, is the distinction that matters for 2028. The fight is not between left and right. It is between the real and the phony. •       AOC, Ro Khanna, and the 2028 Democratic Race: Bernie won't run in 2028. But Devine is certain that one or more Bernie-style candidates will. AOC and Ro Khanna are the most obvious — both have toured with Bernie, both share his core principles, both are committed to Medicare for All. But Devine adds: at this point in the calendar going into 2006, Barack Obama was a state senator from Illinois. The candidate who actually wins the 2028 nomination may not yet be on the radar. What is on the radar: a Democratic base that is desperate for new leadership and a new direction. And a president, Trump, who Devine believes is capable of doing anything to hold power, including worse than January 6. The only way to stop him is to beat him in elections. About the Guest Tad Devine is a Democratic political strategist with over thirty years of campaign experience. He served as chief strategist for Bernie Sanders' 2016 presidential campaign and as a senior adviser in Al Gore's 2000 and John Kerry's 2004 presidential campaigns. He has held academic positions at Boston University, the Harvard Kennedy School, and George Washington University. He is the author of How the Democrats Screwed Bernie (Simon & Schuster, July 7, 2026). References: •       How the Democrats Screwed Bernie by Tad Devine (Simon & Schuster, July 7, 2026). Publishers Weekly: “An enraging account… a keen cautionary tale.” •       Mike Donilon — Devine's former partner; later became Joe Biden's top strategist in the White House.

“For all the paperwork of democracy — government by and for the people — we have become a citizenry of spectators who simply want to be entertained. And we are accustomed to the realization that we can't do anything about what's on the screen.” — David Thomson Has the prolific film critic David Thomson fallen out of love with the movies? That's the question I began my conversation with Thomson, arguably the greatest living writer on film. My question was triggered by his revisionist movie history (out today), A Sudden Flicker of Light, which, while still glorifying film, nonetheless recognizes the damage that the medium has done to us. No, he hasn't fallen out of love with the movies, Thomson responded. But he did acknowledge a new kind of wariness about his beloved medium — a suspicion of auteur worship, that tradition which concentrates on the great artistry of individual directors like Welles, Hitchcock, and Scorsese while ignoring what the motion picture medium as a whole has done to society. “What has God wrought?” Samuel Morse asked about the telegraph. David Thomson is asking the same question about the consequence of movies. Cinema, particularly Hollywood, Thomson argues, has spent a century disempowering audiences. Sitting in the dark, gazing at the screen, people have lost their agency. This passivity, Thomson argues, has invaded our political life, transforming us from citizens into spectators. No, Mr Smith hasn't gone to Washington. Instead, America has become a theater of gawkers addicted to screen entertainment, unable to discriminate between a sudden flicker of light and reality. Thus the degeneration of America into a violent Coppola movie. Thus The Joker who has crawled out of primeval darkness and now monopolizes all our screens. You could make a movie about it. Call it “Being There” or “Network.” Or perhaps “The Truman Show.” Five Takeaways •       Cinema Has Trained Us to Be Spectators — and That Has Destroyed Our Agency: Thomson's central argument: sitting in the dark watching a bright light in front of them, audiences learned that the thing on the screen is not their responsibility. People are not really hurt on screen, no matter their bodies are torn apart. They are not really happy, no matter what they say in the film. And whatever happens, the audience remains a spectator. Extrapolate that out into a broader world and you have a society in which, for all the paperwork of democracy and government by and for the people, people have become a citizenry of spectators who simply want to be entertained. America, Thomson believes, is in that state. •       Every Cut Is Violent — and Every Cut Is a Marriage: Thomson's most original observation is the smallest: the cut. A cut is where the stream of imagery you are watching goes from one shot to another. It is a separation — but it is also a marriage. Every cut says: join them up. The way we measure the effectiveness of directors from D.W. Griffith onward is that they found ways to put shots together so that film had sequence and order, like the order of sentences in writing. And every cut has an element of violence in it, because you are seeing one thing and then, bang, you are watching something quite different. We have never taught our children what a cut is — even though they have spent far more of their lives watching moving imagery than reading. That neglect, Thomson argues, is consequential. •       The Culture of Manhood and the Systematic Neglect of Women: Thomson's most politically charged observation: the culture of manhood and the serious neglect of women was going on in virtually every film he saw until at least the 1980s, and you could argue well beyond that. That is, he says, a kind of tacit advertising — a way of saying, look, this is really a very good way for how the world should be. It is something that has become harder and harder for him to endure as an idea. And he thinks that the war in Iran would not have been as likely if America had had enough women running the country — because women feel and think together in concert in different ways, with more room for compassion, sentiment, and plain rationality. •       Cinema Is Deeply Educational — and We Have Ignored That: Thomson's answer to Andrew's challenge: what does any of this have to do with movies? Everything. You cannot have a mass medium without the mass being affected, without the ways in which they think being shaped. The movies have given us examples of how to live that have been intensely persuasive. They are deeply educational. And yet we have permitted them, and like every technology humans have ever invented, we have let the technology take control of us rather than the other way around. Children spend far more time watching moving imagery than reading — and yet we do not teach them what a cut is, what a camera angle means, how the medium constructs its reality. That neglect has been, Thomson believes, catastrophic. •       Citizen Kane Is the Definitive American Film — Not The Godfather: Andrew's final question: what is the definitive movie about America? Not The Godfather, Thomson says, because the Godfather films cannot overcome their attraction to authority. There is a reverence for dark power in the Godfather films. Whereas in Citizen Kane, there is all through the film a terrible ruefulness about what happens to people who seek power. Welles absolutely understood and was intensely critical of the personality that needed power and authority — and he was afraid of it. For that reason, it is still for Thomson the definitive American film. Thomson has been known to doze off watching it, because he knows it too well. On July 4, he plans to watch something different. Ideally, The Odyssey. About the Guest David Thomson is the author of more than twenty books on film, including A Sudden Flicker of Light: A Revisionist History of the Movies (Simon & Schuster, July 7, 2026), The New Biographical Dictionary of Film (six editions, 1975–2014), Orson Welles, The Big Screen, Have You Seen…?, and biographies of David O. Selznick, Marlon Brando, and Nicole Kidman. Michael Ondaatje has called him “the best writer on film in our time.” He lives in San Francisco, where he is Andrew Keen's neighbour. References: •       A Sudden Flicker of Light: A Revisionist History of the Movies by David Thomson (Simon & Schuster, July 7, 2026). •       Citizen Kane (Orson Welles, 1941) — Thomson's definitive American film; discussed extensively in the conversation. •       The Godfather (Francis Ford Coppola, 1972) — referenced as ...

Can democracies become more resilient by being bolder? In this episode of How to Fix Democracy, Andrew Keen speaks with journalist, author and foreign affairs commentator John Kampfner about his new book Brave New World. Drawing on research from countries as diverse as Finland, Estonia, Taiwan, Morocco, Canada and Romania, Kampfner argues that democracy's greatest challenge is not a lack of ideas but a lack of political courage. Together, they explore why resilience, imagination, and courageous leadership are essential to tackling today's biggest challenges, from housing and healthcare to digital government, education, and climate policy. Rather than dwelling on democratic decline, this conversation offers practical examples of governments that are daring to think differently, and asks what other democracies can learn from them.

“White Americans considered themselves chosen by God to possess the continent and lord it over others — and they saw Native people as indelibly savage and fated by God to extinction.” — David J. Silverman Was the colonization of North America a genocidal project? That is the delicate question David J. Silverman confronts in his powerful new book, The Chosen and the Damned: Native Americans and the Making of Race in the United States. Yes, Silverman concludes, there was an American genocide. But with a crucial distinction. Rather than a top-down government-organised “Final Solution,” the fate of Native Americans was what Silverman calls a “structural genocide.” It reflected a complete indifference to Native American life, grounded in a religious and racial ideology that gave white Americans the right to possess the continent and viewed Native Americans as indelibly savage and fated by God to extinction. The Spanish colonization of Latin America, Silverman notes, intended to subjugate the Native population and keep them as tributaries. The English, and their American successors, in contrast, intended to replace them. It's the same structural genocide that occurred in Canada, New Zealand, Australia, and South Africa. For all Silverman's dark take, there is good news. He argues that this structural genocide came to an end in the late 1960s. In an extraordinary and underappreciated transformation, Native American activists convinced a broad majority of Americans that tribes as tribes should be a permanent part of the United States. White supremacy, Silverman concludes, has been a feature of North American history since its colonization. But so has pluralism. American genocide vs American pluralism. Is history once again repeating itself in Trump's America? Five Takeaways •       Structural Genocide: Society-Wide Indifference, Not Just Government Policy: Silverman's central concept: structural genocide. Not the top-down, government-directed campaign to exterminate a people — though there were moments of exactly that across the centuries, when the government decided certain groups of Native people should be exterminated for resisting American rule. What he's describing is a society-wide and culture-wide indifference to Native American life, grounded in a racial ideology in which white Americans considered themselves chosen by God to possess the continent and Native Americans indelibly savage and fated by God to extinction. That ideology, combined with the imperative to seize Native American land, led white Americans from the seventeenth century through the twentieth to destroy Native American life through dozens of different forms. •       Anglo vs Spanish Colonialism: Replacement vs Subjugation: The Spanish in Latin America and the Caribbean were violent and horrific — but their purpose was to subjugate the Native population and have them subservient, not to replace them. Once the Spanish had defeated Native people, they took their foot off the gas and kept the surviving population as tributaries. The English colonies, and their American successors, intended to replace Native people — to displace them from the land and install new settler societies of men, women, and children. That pattern is also visible in Canada, New Zealand, Australia, and South Africa. It is not unique to the United States, but it is particular to English-origin settler colonialism. •       White Americans as “Chosen”: The Theological Foundation of Racial Ideology: Silverman's most striking argument is the theological one. White Americans did not merely believe they were racially superior — they believed they were chosen by God to possess the North American continent and lord it over others, and that Native people were equally fated by God to extinction in the name of white Christian civilisation. Native people countered with their own theology: the Great Spirit had created Indians and Whites separately and intended America to belong to Indians alone. This was not just a political dispute. It was a cosmic one. The racial ideology of white election — the sense of being chosen — is, Silverman argues, inseparable from the structural genocide that followed. •       The Good News: Structural Genocide Came to an End in the Late 1960s: An extraordinary and largely unacknowledged transformation. Native American activists and their non-Native allies convinced a broad American majority — Democrats and Republicans — that Native tribes as tribes, not just individuals, should be a permanent part of the United States, and that the treaties signed by the republic should be honoured as the supreme law of the land. For most of American history, the government's programme was to exterminate Native people physically or as cultural, social, and political units. That is no longer the case. Native Americans are rising: in numbers, in well-being, in political power. Light years to go. But it is a stunning transformation. •       Honoring Treaties Is Not Reparations — It Is the Constitution: On the question of Native land rights and casino rights, Silverman is precise: what you are seeing is not special privileges granted out of white guilt. It is the United States honouring the treaties it signed with Native tribes in the nineteenth century — treaties that under the United States Constitution are the supreme law of the land. The United States has not honoured those treaties for most of its history. It has begun to do so since the 1960s. This is not reparations. It is the republic living up to its word and its constitutional duties. The distinction matters, and Silverman draws it carefully. About the Guest David J. Silverman is Professor of History at George Washington University. He is the author of The Chosen and the Damned: Native Americans and the Making of Race in the United States (Bloomsbury, February 10, 2026), This Land Is Their Land: The Wampanoag Indians, Plymouth Colony, and the Troubled History of Thanksgiving (Bloomsbury, 2019; winner of multiple awards), Thundersticks, Ninigret, Red Brethren, and Faith and Boundaries. His essays have appeared in The New York Times, The Atlantic, the Washington Post, National Geographic, and The Daily Beast. He is based in Washington DC. References: •       The Chosen and the Damned: Native Americans and the Making of Race in the United States by David J. Silverman (Bloomsbury, February 10, 2026). •       Konstanty Gebert (Warsaw, Episode 2952) — referenced at the opening for his discussion of the definition of genocide. •       Isabel Wilkerson, Caste — referenced in the closing section on racial hierarchy as caste. About Keen On America 

“The pinnacle of capitalism is still flawed. Any idea that it's perfect — this idea of the perfect union — is deeply flawed as a concept and always has been.” — Keith Teare With July 4 finally done, we can look forward to the next American revolution. Just as AI is revolutionizing the economy, so too are radical ideas about harnessing this disruption for the benefit of all Americans. One idea that is acquiring more and more currency in and out of Silicon Valley is what we might call universal basic capitalism. Six months ago, nobody knew what “universal basic capital” even meant. Now everyone is talking about it. What if the answer to inequality, AI disruption, and the slow hollowing out of the American economy isn't a return to socialism — but a new, more distributive kind of capitalism? As That Was The Week's Keith Teare argues in our weekly tech roundup, universal basic capitalism offers the best way to simultaneously empower all Americans without turning them into the welfare “queens” so disparaged by neo-liberals. Economists agree that AI is going to eliminate vast numbers of jobs, probably within the decade, certainly in time for America's 300th anniversary. One fix is the democratic socialist strategy of tax and spend through the state. Universal basic capitalism, in contrast, takes the wealth generated by AI companies, puts it into a sovereign wealth fund, and distributes the dividends directly to citizens. Rather than an ever-more-bloated bureaucracy redistributing wealth, the state miraculously shrinks. It's a neat idea. Instead of welfare queens, we get shareholding kings. But is this really the next American revolution? Or just the trickle-down economics of the DOGE crowd for an AI age of mass unemployment? Five Takeaways •       America the Beautiful — and Its Profound Flaws: Keith's 250th editorial acknowledges America's extraordinary achievements: the growth in wealth, living standards, and democratic governance over two and a half centuries. The fact that Donald Trump won the presidency, Keith notes, is itself evidence that the people still rule — most intellectuals didn't want him, but the people voted for him. At the same time: capitalism at its best still has huge swathes of poor people who can barely eat. The perfect union is deeply flawed as a concept and always has been. America has probably peaked in world terms. The next 250 years are not a foregone conclusion. •       1,200 New Millionaires a Day: The American Prosperity Machine: The stat of the week: the United States added 1,200 new millionaires a day last year, bringing its total to nearly 24 million. China has just over 5 million; Italy, the Netherlands, South Korea, Australia, France, and the UK are all under 3 million. The math: US GDP per capita is around $85,000 a year; China's is around $20,000-something. In California in particular, where house prices routinely exceed $1 million and there are 50–60 million residents, the numbers are doing a lot of work disguising a highly skewed distribution concentrated in coastal cities. •       Universal Basic Capital vs Democratic Socialism: The State Shrinks: Keith draws a sharp distinction between UBC — the sovereign wealth fund model — and democratic socialism as practised by Mamdani, Sanders, and AOC. In the socialist tradition, you seize the state through elections and use taxes and spending for good ends. Under UBC, the sovereign wealth fund becomes the distribution mechanism and the state shrinks to an administrative function: roads, health, education, defence. The actual AI companies don't become the state. The state becomes a shareholder in the fund. Money flows to citizens; the state shrinks. It's an interesting inversion. •       The AI Jobs Debate: Short-Term Boom, Long-Term Automation: Erik Brynjolfsson of Stanford is at the centre of a debate this week. One body of evidence says companies using AI are hiring faster than companies that don't — Amazon and Microsoft both announced plans to put thousands of engineers on the front line helping customers implement AI. But Brynjolfsson's longer view says automation will accelerate: the things you need a front-end engineer for today will be done by agents tomorrow. Keith agrees with the long view: declining employment over five to fifteen years, which doesn't have to be a bad thing if universal basic capital is in place. Look at Musk's robot plans. It is definitely declining employment. •       Om Malik: The Liberal Humanist Who Prefigured Substack: Om Malik died this week at 59 — the tech journalist and venture capitalist who founded GigaOm and co-hosted the Crunchies with Mike Arrington. Keith knew him from Iceland, from photography, from the whole era of early tech blogging. His assessment: Om was a liberal with a capital L and a humanist, often writing critically about the extremes of capitalism and favourably about remedies. He became a capitalist to be independent, and that independence gave him freedom. Without GigaOm and TechCrunch, there would be no Substack. The line runs from the New York Times to GigaOm to TechCrunch to Substack to That Was The Week. Thank you, Om. About the Guest Keith Teare is a British-American entrepreneur, investor, and publisher of the That Was The Week newsletter. He is a co-founder of TechCrunch and Andrew's regular TWTW co-host. References: •       That Was The Week by Keith Teare — the newsletter on which this episode is based. •       Erik Brynjolfsson (Stanford) — referenced for his argument that AI will accelerate long-term job automation, despite short-term hiring booms. •       Jennifer Harris, “The Generational Force Hollowing Out the Economy,” The New York Times — referenced in the closing discussion. •       Om Malik — founder of GigaOm; venture capitalist at True Ventures; died July 4, 2026, aged 59. •       MG Siegler — referenced for his obituary of Om Malik. About Keen On America Nobody asks more awkward questions than the Anglo-American writer and filmmaker Andrew Keen. In Keen On America, Andrew brings his pointed Transatlantic wit to making sense of the United States — hosting daily interviews about the history and future of this now venerable Republic. With nearly 3,000 episodes since the show launched on TechCrunch in 2010, Keen On America is the most prolific intellectual interview show in the history of podcasting. WebsiteSubstackYouTubeApple PodcastsSpotify Chapters: